ffiKltf 



HI mHm wm 

\ wHKHHBUWm 

I I — U B Bi H 

soffit 9fl& HmHwRssls 



■HH 



III p 

■ 99M ii 



III www 



IIH 



mh, 



rati 






IBS iiMs mum ran HffiMmHKlSifffi& 

mm VBSSmm 



Hm9n 

mi ws81ln«1lniu 



Hfii ifflll (urn HVA^H 

11 11 11 

1181 I 

SHU mBBEnA 

Iran IHHlIffiBwil 

hh?i\ ™»*! MB HUH Hhi 



ira 



■ 



■ mm m 



Utf 



■ 

M 

HRHfl 



'tritwim 




mm 
























' , <t> A' s 

A* c ° " C « <* 








^ 


























3 » V- r 






.*? 


















r+ct 



* ^ 













£? 












-V 










; ^ 







*■ o x 












: <&% 









/m^ 1 










$ ^ 















-oV 





%. 



\ 




I;)* SAM-!-JOHi\ T SO.y. 



ry t Y usf//// 



/trr. 



/ >'/ ///'•;/. U-. '/,; //.v// hy lV:"Iur/u?r</fn" .I" I SfniriJ . 



DR. JOHNSON & FANNY BURNEY 

Being the 

JOHNSONIAN PASSAGES FEOM THE WORKS 
OF MME. D'ARBLAY 



WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
BY 

CHAUNCEY BREWSTER TINKER 

Assistant Professor of English in Yale College 



For we shall go down hand in hand to posterity" 

Johnson to Miss Burney 



NEW YORK 

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 

1911 



& 



«\* 



Copyright, 1911, by 

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 

New York 

Published September, 1911 



THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 



-, 



©CU30303G 






^ 
$ 



Co 
A. EDWARD NEWTON 

Johnsonian 



PREFACE 

This book represents the first complete collection 
of the Johnsonian material in the works of Miss 
Burney. It is remarkable that no such volume has 
appeared before; for, apart from Boswell, there is 
no account of Samuel Johnson more lifelike and pic- 
turesque than Miss Burney's. Yet, although prac- 
tically all the other Johnsonian material has been 
edited with scrupulous care, Miss Burney's account 
has been allowed to remain scattered through the 
pages of two voluminous diaries and hidden in the 
now-forgotten Memoirs of Doctor Burney. 

I have included in this work all the reminiscences 
of Johnson in Miss Burney's various works, with the 
exception of repetitions and of a few passages in 
which his name is only casually mentioned — passages 
in which he does not actually appear at all. The 
present extracts are, therefore, within the limits of 
their subject, not a volume of selections, in the strict 
sense of that term; they form, rather, a complete 
treatise. In my endeavor after completeness, I have 
even transcended the avowed subject and included 
also some passages dealing with such intimate 
friends of Johnson as Boswell and Reynolds. 

The text followed in the body of the work is that 
of the earlier impression of Mrs. Barrett's edition 
of the Diary and Letters (London, 1842) ; but minor 



viii Preface 

changes in spelling and punctuation have been made 
in the interests of consistency. In the extracts from 
the Early Diary and the Memoirs of Dr. Burney, 
the text is, in each case, that of the first edition of 
the work. To this statement there is exception to be 
made of one selection from the Memoirs which has 
been somewhat condensed; this change is duly men- 
tioned in the proper note. I have done what I could 
to supply dates, but my attempts have often failed. 
Miss Burney was confessedly careless respecting 
dates, so that the utmost ingenuity (which the pres- 
ent editor certainly does not possess) can hardly 
hope to do more than correct some few, and to sup- 
ply some few that are wanting. 

My thanks are due to Messrs. George Bell and 
Sons, who have kindly permitted the use of the selec- 
tions from the Early Diary. When I have used a 
note from that work, or from any other edition of 
Miss Burney's works, I have, I believe, acknowl- 
edged the source. Many of the illustrations are from 
the invaluable collection of Johnsoniana in the pos- 
session of R. B. Adam, Esq., of Buffalo, New York, 
to whose kindness the editor has been so frequently 
and so deeply indebted that he can make no adequate 
acknowledgment of it here. 

London, July, igu. 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY 

v 

" Harry Fielding, too, would have been afraid 
of her; there is nothing so delicately finished in all 
Harry Fielding's works as Evelina! " So spoke 
Samuel Johnson, not ex cathedra, to be sure, in the 
Mitre Tavern, but from his easy-chair in the library 
at Streatham. And although the pronouncement may 
appear casual on the face of it, yet it cannot be re- 
garded as other than a serious literary opinion of the 
Great Dictator; for it is true of Johnson's critical 
dicta that, unlike those of some of his successors, they 
invariably emanate from general principles and 
settled convictions. In other words, Johnson cer- 
tainly meant what he said. The remark represents 
an established opinion, not a sudden enthusiasm for 
the achievement of a dear friend. Indeed, it would 
hardly be fair to say that Miss Burney was a friend 
of Johnson's when she wrote Evelina. Johnson had, 
it is true, been more or less intimate with Dr. Burney 
and his children ever since the days of the Dictionary , 
but all this time Fanny had been to him nothing more 
than an undistinguished detail in the family back- 
ground. It was Evelina who introduced Miss Fanny 
Burney to Dr. Johnson. Chance had thrown them 
together once before, as the reader of the following 
pages may see for himself, but the meeting had ap- 
parently not left upon the mind of Johnson the 



x Introduction 

vaguest impression. Even after he had come to 
know her through Evelina, he saluted her rather as 
a new-found literary acquaintance than as the daugh- 
ter of an old and loving friend. He, like the rest of 
the world, had been ignorant of the author when he 
had read the novel: "Why, madam, why, what a 
charming book you lent me! " he had said to Mrs. 
Thrale, who knew the secret of the authorship, and he 
had presently extracted the whole story from that 
lady ; whereupon he, again like the rest of the world, 
fell into a passion of curiosity concerning the maiden- 
author. It is clear that it was enthusiasm for the 
book that produced the acquaintance, and not friend- 
ship that produced the enthusiasm. There was some- 
thing puzzling in the existence side by side in one 
person of the timorous maiden and the keen-sighted 
observer of manners that very naturally fascinated the 
intellect and challenged the emotions- of Johnson, 
producing, though late in his life, a friendship as 
deep and true as any in that long life of ardent friend- 
ships. But had Evelina appeared a decade later, the 
introduction just described could never have taken 
place, and Samuel Johnson would never have known 
" little Burney." 

It is certainly a misfortune of the following 
reminiscences that they have so much to say of 
Evelina. We may tell ourselves again and again 
that in recording the compliments, delicate and coarse, 
bestowed upon her book, the young author intended 
them only " for the eyes of two or three persons who 
had loved her from her infancy," and yet it is prob- 



Introduction xi 

able that, even in pardoning her, a majority of us will 
smile at her unrivaled diligence in this kind of work; 
or when Dr. Johnson insists upon comparisons with 
Fielding (to Fielding's utter confusion), we may be 
permitted to take them cum grano salis. Evelina, 
in truth, still possesses distinction, a certain prim at- 
tractiveness which time will probably only enhance; 
the book has always had numerous readers and even 
more numerous admirers (admiration and perusal 
sometimes existing quite independently) , but it has 
not yet eclipsed Tom Jones or even Amelia. It is 
perhaps a little difficult to account for the rank which 
one instinctively gives the novel. In respect of plot, 
though distinguished by a unity and a movement un- 
common in eighteenth-century fiction, it is yet both 
crude and conventional in structure. The modern * 
reader whom scores of novelists have trained into an 
intuitive respect for the demands of probability cannot 
but be amused at the happy ubiquity of a character 
like Lord Orville ; whenever there is need — or excuse 
— for his presence on the scene, the reader may be 
sure that he will not be wanting: at Ranelagh, at 
Vauxhall, at the ball, in the playhouse, in city and in 
country alike, lo ! there is Lord Orville in their midst. 
Other work in life he appears not to have than to 
meet Evelina at the right — or the wrong — time, and 
to advance the plot. A similarly unskilful manipula- ^ 
tion may be found in the general working out of the 
story; in its larger aspects the plot is a somewhat 
mitigated form of the ancient story of the missing 
heir and of his restoration to long-lost parents. But, 



xii Introduction 

as in Joseph Andrews, the mystery of the birth is 
doubled by the introduction of a second heir (also 
missing), a Mr. Macartney, who is made to fall in 
love with a woman whom the reader is for a time 
allowed to suppose his sister. By a careful readjust- 
ment of brothers and sisters at the end, each Jack is 
permitted to have his Jill; wealth and high rank, as 
a result of marriage or sonship, are bestowed on each, 
and the delighted reader exclaims with Sheridan, 

Hence may each orphan hope, as chance directs, 
To find a parent where he least expects. 

At the plot of Evelina, too, I venture to think, pos- 
terity must be pardoned for an indulgent smile. 

It is, however, much easier to bestow praise upon 
the delineation of character in this story. It is the 
farcical element in Evelina that has been most freely 
and frequently praised : Johnson loved to talk of the 
Smiths and the Branghtons, and of impossible old 
Mme. Duval (for whom, in spite of her vulgarity 
and worldliness, one cannot but feel a touch of affec- 
tion) ; Macaulay praised her for " her variety of hu- 
mors," but would allow her little more; and even Mr. 
Dobson appears still to prefer the " broad " treat- 
ment of the farcical personages to the quieter char- 
acterizations. There are probably no more famous 
scenes in the book than the ducking of Mme. Duval 
and the attack of the monkey upon Beau Lovel's ear; 
and, though we may wonder how a young woman like 
Miss Burney was able to describe such scenes, it 
must certainly be admitted that they are successful — 



Introduction xiii 

so successful, in truth, as to challenge comparison 
with some of the lesser scuffles in the pages of Smol- 
lett. It is surely a fact of significance that critics 
have chosen to speak of Mme. Duval and the 
Branghtons rather than of the hero and heroine, Eve- 
lina and Orville, who absorb more of our time and 
attention. But there have been readers who felt dif- 
ferently. Orville and Evelina were, and are still no 
doubt, the chief attraction to many a devoted reader 
who thinks of Duvals and Branghtons merely as 
obscuring that fine old issue whether the hero can be 
brought to unite himself in matrimony with the 
heroine; but the critics appear to have been rather 
too willing to allow the lovers to be thus obscured. 
It was hardly to be expected, even by Dr. Johnson, 
that Miss Burney should equal Fielding in the depic- 
tion of an agr^eabl^rake L Sir Clement Willoughby, or 
surpass Richardson in the depiction of a perfect man, 
Orville. When all is said, it is to be feared that the 
comparative indifference of the critics to these gentle- 
men means that Orville is a prig and a bore, and that 
Willoughby, obviously more likeable than the peer, 
is, nevertheless, only an echo. 

But the chief distinction of Evelina has yet to be 
mentioned. Whatever we may think of its plot or of 
its farcical characters, or of its hero and its rake, we 
must admit that it possesses an interest truly unique 
in its intimate revelation of the mind of young woman- 
hood. It is remarkable that this characteristic has 
not been more enthusiastically discussed by those who 
wish to praise Evelina, for this novel contains the first 



h 



xiv Introduction 

great analysis in English literature of the mind of a 
young woman, produced by a young woman. There 
is nothing in earlier English literature quite com- 
parable with it; for apt comparisons we must go to 
Miss Austen or Miss Bronte, and even then the won- 
der of it is hardly diminished. But if there is no 
earlier woman's achievement that can be fairly com- 
pared with this story, there is of course a man's 
achievement which completely overshadows it, and 
that is the work of Richardson. The parallel between 
Pamela's constant " scribbling " and Evelina's devo- 
tion to her correspondence is too obvious to have 
escaped notice ; it is too obvious, indeed, to enable the 
reader to regard Evelina as quite free from a rather 
conscious imitation of Pamela. There is at times 
in Miss Burney's heroine a suspicion of servility, a 
fluttering admiration of rank, which one might wish 
away; but when, as a last letter, Evelina records, 
" This morning, with fearful joy and trembling grati- 
tude, your Evelina united herself for ever with the 
object of her dearest, her eternal affection," then the 
likeness to Richardson's heroine almost evokes a cry 
of pain. But there is nothing merely repetitious in 
the fine portrayal of maidenly simplicity, of bewil- 
dered innocence in its first contact with the disillusion- 
izing world, its mauvaise honte, its all-embracing faith 
in the simple maxims of the nursery. Here, at last, 
there is perfect knowledge. Here is a figure to oppose 
to the colorless stupidity of a Narcissa or to the 
studied cleverness of a Lady Teazle. 

And yet I cannot but feel that in testing Evelina 



Introduction xv 

by the standard of its great predecessors, the chief 
interest of the comparison is to reveal the elements in 
Richardson's young women to which Miss Burney, as 
a young woman speaking for her kind, was willing 
to give, as it were, her official sanction. And thus the 
chief interest of Evelina is likely often to remain just 
what it was in 1778, an interest in Miss Burney her- 
self. " She is herself the great sublime she draws," 
wrote Sir Joshua Reynolds to Mrs. Thrale, and 
despite all protest to the contrary, it is probable 
that the worth of Evelina will be ultimately measured 
by the truth of its portrayal of young womanhood — 
that is to say, by the truth of its portrayal of Miss 
Burney. 

That most of what went into the characterization 
of Evelina came from Miss^Burneyls^knowledge of 
Jierself is not, I imagine, likely to be very strongly 
denied. Evelina is of course her idealized self. She 
had, to be sure, no Orville, much less a Willoughby, 
but under similar circumstances she would have done 
— who can doubt it? — precisely what Evelina did. 
Miss Burney gave to Evelina her own passion for 
recording her life, her own abounding modesty, some- 
thing, though not full measure, of her sanity and her 
keen penetration into character, and above all, some- 
thing of her own pride. There is, I take it, no real in- 
consistency between Miss Burney's intense pride and 
her intense modesty. The link between them was her 
sensitiveness. Of this she seems to be fully con- 
scious herself; for in speaking of a certain "high 
lady " at Bath, she says, 



xvi Introduction 

" Characters of this sort always make me as 
proud as they are themselves; while the avidity 
with which Mrs. Byron honors, and the kindness 
with which Mrs. Thrale delights me, makes me 
ready to kiss even the dust that falls from their 
feet." 

So extreme was her sensitiveness that she could hardly 
endure to overhear the mention of her name; at the 
voice of praise she almost swooned — but it was from 
delight. She herself speaks of praise as a " delicious 
confusion." When the victim of such adulation, she 
must have felt that now more than ever it were rich 
to die. But destructive criticism assumed to her the 
proportions of cosmical disaster. And yet withal she 
knew her deserts; she knew the kind of company in 
which it was her right to move. She is often de- 
scribed as filled with a horror of the limelight, a 
sitter in corners, content to be a quiet observer of 
others. And this is, in a measure, true; but her fa- 
vorite station was a corner in the salons of the Great. 
To realize this we have but to remind ourselves of 
some of those whom she might fairly call friends, — ■ 
her King and her Queen; Burke, the greatest of 
England's statesmen, and his enemy Warren Hast- 
ings; the greatest of actors and the best-loved of 
painters, bluestockings like Mrs. Montagu and Mrs. 
Ord, Mrs. Vesey, Mrs. Thrale, Mrs. Cholmondeley, 
and Mrs. Delany. A policy of complete self- 
effacement is surely inconsistent with such a host 
of acquaintances as that. These are not the friends 



Introduction xvii 

of a recluse. The true recluse of the following 
pages is not the author of Evelina, but Mr. Crisp 
of Chessington, whose first meeting with John- 
son affords some interesting contrasts with Miss 
Burney's. Miss Burney's pride and modesty are 
most likely to be understood if we conceive of both 
as a sensitive dread of not living up to what is ex- 
pected of a proclaimed genius. Praise distressed her 
because praise is almost always a challenge, and Miss 
Burney had a young woman's dread of a challenge. 
It was much easier to disclaim ability than to " talk 
for victory." Miss Burney's ability to justify the 
enthusiasm of her friends was so exclusively confined 
to her hours of solitude that there are times when her 
modesty seems a studied affectation, the ostentatious 
humility of a Miss Esther Summerson, rather than 
the inexperience of an Evelina. These meek young 
women who are for ever retiring to their " chambers," 
to escape the voice of the flatterer or to record his 
words in interminable letters, seem at times possessed 
of a remarkable sanity which detects the market value 
of this favorite virtue. They exhibit a surprising 
facility in contracting successful engagements, in pub- 
lishing novels (though without fame or fortune), or 
an almost Boswellian faculty for scraping acquaint- 
ance with the distinguished folk of their time. It is 
all very innocent ; and in Miss Burney, at least, there 
is enough sincerity to give her pages an authentic 
note of guilelessness, unfrequent in eighteenth-century 
literature, a characteristic which blends pleasantly 
with real literary skill. The pages of the Journal 



h 



v : 



xviii Introduction 



here laid before the reader are simple, unpremeditated 
even, at times, casual, after the very best manner of 
occasional composition; but underneath it all there is 
art. Miss Burney was by no means inexperienced 
with her pen. She began writing diaries at the age 
of fifteen, but, by her own confession, she had been 
for five years before this an inveterate scribbler of 
romances, all of which came to a timely end in flames. 
These years of practice had given her ease and rapid- 
ity of style, and the ability and habit of seeing things 
in the large. This unpremeditated skill (if I may be 
allowed the expression) may perhaps be more easily 
discerned if the reader will compare with some one 
of the earlier of Miss Burney's records the gay and 
careless chatter of her younger sister Susan, here 
given in the Appendix. Both accounts have the 
charm of naivete, but the latter is totally deficient in 
the experienced craftsmanship that so delightfully 
characterizes the former. Not that there is any trace 
of self-consciousness. In Fanny's record there is art, 
but it is unstudied, such unstudied art as may result 
only from long practice. Thus I believe that we may 
find in Miss Burney's diary, not only a truer portrait 
of herself than is to be discovered in Evelina, but a 
style and, indeed, a dramatic skill surpassing any 
that can be found in her novels. 

And first of her style. Lord Macaulay, with that 
magnificent ease which has been alternately the disgust 
and despair of his successors, distinguishes three 
totally different styles. The first is her natural style, 
" perspicuous and agreeable " ; the second displays the 



Introduction xix 

stiffening influence of Johnson, and was perhaps pro- 
duced under his immediate influence ; the third repre- 
sents a " new Euphuism/' in which pomposity has 
gone mad. Now this analysis, touching the high 
points in the development of Miss Burney's style, is 
like much of Macaulay's work, most useful, and yet, 
if accepted as literal truth, somewhat misleading. It 
is a late day to be saying that Lord Macaulay's 
criticism is lacking in chiaroscuro; but, commonplace 
as is the observation, it is yet necessary to give one 
more illustration of it here. Miss Burney did not 
suddenly adopt a new style when she came to the 
composition of Cecilia; she did not submit that work 
to the revision of Samuel Johnson ; it is not even true 
that in Evelina she exhibited a charming simplicity 
of style which she thereafter unaccountably corrupted. 
•^ In short, there is no impassable gulf fixed between her 
earliest and her latest style. To begin with the mat- 
ter of "agreeable perspicuity," » Evelina is by no 
means a well of simple diction undefiled. There are 
sentences in it that display so prim a sense of decorum 
that they already indicate a strong tendency towards 
the pomposity of the Memoirs of Doctor Burney. 
Here are three specimens from Evelina which would 
have no unfamiliar ring if found in her latest work, 
and might, indeed, easily be mistaken for quotations 
from it: 

" Indeed, had you, like me, seen his respectful 
behaviour, you would have been convinced of 
the impracticability of supporting any further 
indignation." 



xx Introduction 

" Can you wonder I should seek to hasten the 
happy time . . . when the most punctilious 
delicacy will rather promote than oppose my 
happiness in attending you? " 

" Suffer, therefore, its acceleration, and gen- 
erously complete my felicity by endeavouring to 
suffer it without repugnance." 

Sentences such as these show that Miss Burney's 
passion for dignity of language was from the begin- 
ning in danger of becoming inflamed. The more 
prominent she became, the more did the sense of her 
importance exhibit itself in this false dignity of dic- 
tion which issued at last in mere bombast. The 
reader who is interested in this gradual development 
toward an unfortunate conclusion may follow it from 
Evelina through Cecilia, Camilla, and The Wan- 
derer, to the delicious absurdities of the Memoirs; he 
will find in it no sudden breaks ; but rather a develop- 
ment as natural as it was unfortunate. It is such a 
result as might normally be expected from a lady 
whose innate tendency to formality was fostered in 
the dull pomposities of the court of King George III. 
I have said so much of Miss Burney's style in 
Evelina and other books not represented in the fol- 
lowing pages, because I believe that it is in the pages 
of the Diary alone — and in its earlier pages at that — 
that Miss Burney's work is seen at its best. Here she 
is simple; here her style flows swift and limpid. 
There is no affectation of dignity in this pleasant con- 
verse with her sisters, no suspicion of pomposity in 
this spirited account of Dr. Johnson. Here she is 



Introduction xxi 

what she is " by art as well as by nature." In respect 
of style, as in so many respects, the Diary emerges as 
Miss Burney's supreme achievement. 

If the Journal, then, is superior to Miss Burney's 
works of fiction in this, it is also, I believe, at least 
equal to them in dramatic quality. When we have 
taken into account all other aspects, it perhaps re- 
mains the chief distinction of the Diary that it ex- 
hibits a sense for a dramatic scene which goes far to 
justify Mrs. Thrale in her conviction that Miss Bur- 
ney's genius should be devoted to the service of the 
Comic Muse. The author grasps life with the in- 
stincts of a novelist, and although plot is necessarily 
absent from her work, she exhibits a series of scenes 
that fairly deserve the much abused adjective 
" dramatic." We are unfortunately accustomed to 
speak of any scene that reads brightly and easily as 
" dramatic." BoswelPs Life of Johnson, for ex- 
ample, is almost always so described; but in spite of 
all its superiority in other ways, that marvelous 
biography is not dramatic in the same sense as are 
the following selections. Here and there in Boswell, 
no doubt, in passages like the famous account of the 
Wilkes dinner and the conversation with King 
George, there are scenes as truly dramatic as any 
in the present volume ; but the general aspect of Bos- 
well's Life is not dramatic. Whoever is satisfied with 
that adjective as a description of the great biography 
has either never read it, or is but ill acquainted with 
the drama. If, in the infinite variety of that great 
book, there can be said to be any strict method, its 



xxii Introduction 

unit is rather the sentence, the Johnsonian pronounce- 
ment, than the dramatic scene. One recalls the Life 
as a series of trenchant utterances, now magnificent, 
now trivial; one recalls the Diary as a succession of 
glimpses into Mrs. Thrale's drawing-room. Boswell 
is too concerned with the demands of literal truth to 
permit himself to " write up " a scene after the man- 
ner of the author of Evelina. His book is the great- 
est piece of realism in English; Miss Burney's is 
only a book of dramatic sketches. And in this one 
respect, I cannot but think that Miss Burney has sur- 
passed the incomparable one himself, and this for the 
very simple reason that her lesser task gave her the 
greater freedom in the treatment of her material. 
Be this as it may, you will find it difficult to dis- 
cover anywhere in the vast mass of Johnsonian remi- 
niscence anything which, for dramatic vividness, sur- 
passes the scene in which the Streathamites discuss 
Johnson's kitchen, or that which describes the quar- 
rel with Pepys, or the conversazione in which Dr. 
Johnson announces that he prefers Burney to Siddons. 
Or, to pass for a moment beyond the strictly John- 
sonian material, where is there a neater specimen of 
dialogue than that scene in which two ladies, sum- 
moned by a bluestocking to partake in high literary 
converse, reveal their genuine interests by flying at 
once to the congenial subjects of clothes? Surely it 
has not its superior in Evelina. 

" ' How disagreeable these sacques are ! I am 
so incommoded with these nasty ruffles! I am 
going to Cumberland House — are you ? ' 



Introduction xxiii 

" c To be sure,' said Mrs. Hampden ; ' what 
else, do you think, would make me bear this 
weight of dress? I can't bear a sacque.' 

" ' Why, I thought you said you should al- 
ways wear them ? ' 

" ' Oh yes, but I have changed my mind since 
then — as many people do.' 

" ' Well, I think it vastly disagreeable in- 
deed,' said the other; ' you can't think how I'm 
encumbered with these ruffles ! ' 

" ' Oh, I am quite oppressed with them,' said 
Mrs. Hampden; ' I can hardly bear myself up.' 

" ' And I dined in this way! " cried the other; 
* only think — dining in a sacque ! ' 

" ' Oh,' answered Mrs. Hampden, ' it really 
puts me quite out of spirits.' 

" Well, have you enough? — and has my 
daddy raved enough?" 

Now, with all this dramatic quality, is Miss Bur- 
ney reliable ? May we depend upon the scenes which 
she represents us as essentially truthful? How far is 
her charm due to a skillful manipulation of facts? 
It is a question to be asked. It is, therefore, not very 
reassuring to be told that Miss Burney's accuracy is 
by no means unassailable. She was careless about 
dates. She often prefers, with true feminine instinct, 
to mention the day of the week rather than the day 
of the month. Even then, it is often difficult to fol- 
low the order of events through the week. Later in 
life, she showed a shocking carelessness in dealing 
with her own records — " ancient manuscripts " she 



xxiv Introduction 

calls them — which is most reprehensible. She cut, 
tore, and destroyed, — " curtailed," to use her own 
words, " and erased of what might be mischievous 
from friendly or Family Considerations." In addi- 
tion to all this, new sources of error and confusion 
appear in the work of her first editor, Mrs. Barrett, 
the only editor of her Diary who has had access to 
the original manuscript, a lady who, far from ascer- 
taining and correcting Miss Burney's errors, seems to 
have shared some of Miss Burney's indifference to 
mere detail. But this critical distrust may easily be 
caried too far. When we have made all necessary 
allowance for error, Miss Burney's slips and omis- 
sions remain of the slightest importance. It is quite 
true that she has not the accuracy of a Boswell; but 
it is because we have a Boswell that her errors are so 
very negligible. In his pages we have, in all con- 
science, a sufficiency of details and dates — more than 
in any other biography in existence. We go to Miss 
Burney's records for something else, for intimate 
scenes from Johnson's daily life with the Thrales; 
and, in this respect, we may feel comfortably con- 
fident that our record is truthful. The question of 
the accuracy of such a record is a large matter, and 
it is not to be permanently settled by the enumeration 
of a few unimportant errors in chronology, or even 
by producing evidence that the author late in life 
occasionally made verbal changes that are obviously 
for the worse. The question of the truthfulness of 
the whole portrayal of Johnson can only be tested by 
the standard of witnesses of acknowledged reliability. 



Introduction xxv 

The world will be ready to admit that we have one 
such witness in Boswell. Now the life described by 
Miss Burney differs somewhat from the aspects fa- 
miliar to the reader of Boswell. The latter natu- 
rally saw more of his hero on dress parade; Miss 
Burney saw more of him in what the world might 
then have called " the agreeable relations of domestic 
privacy." But in the general characterization of 
Johnson there is an almost startling agreement with 
Boswell, which, in the minds of any but the most 
skeptical, will go far toward furnishing a sufficient 
proof of Miss Burney's authenticity. Certainly this 
was the impression in the eighteenth century; " How 
well you know him," writes Mrs. Thrale, " and me, 
and all of us." Large matters like the general 
truthfulness of a portrait, I repeat, must be tested in 
large and general ways. In the present case, we 
find in Miss Burney's Johnson the same formal 
courtesy of address, the sudden bursts of ferocity, the 
contradictions, the argument® ad hominem, the 
humor, the pronouncements, the wealth of anecdote 
and reminiscence, and the appeal to first principles, 
that we find in Boswell's record of Johnson's con- 
versation. The words may (conceivably) be the 
words of Miss Burney, but the voice is the voice of 
Johnson. 

Now, the question of inaccuracy aside, is there any 
animus in Miss Burney's work that is likely to distort 
her account of Johnson? She was not, like Mme. 
Piozzi in her Anecdotes, eager to vindicate her own 
conduct, and therefore not over anxious to do justice 



xxvi Introduction 

to Johnson's. She was not, like Hannah More, de- 
termined to " mitigate " Johnson's " asperities." She 
might perhaps have been capable of the latter sin, 
had she been consciously preparing her record for the 
press; in fact she once actually deplores the publica- 
tion of Johnson's Meditations, " too artless to be 
suited to [the world]," and becomes disastrously 
artificial in her account of Johnson inserted in the 
Memoirs of Doctor Burney. But in the Diary her 
account is neither marred by mitigations, nor tainted 
by suggestions of malice. It is the account of one 
who saw sympathetically, and therefore saw clearly, 
of one who was concerned simply with telling the truth 
to two sisters who were themselves acquainted with 
Johnson, and who were certainly unlikely to be de- 
ceived by a policy of " mitigation." It is undoubtedly 
true that Miss Burney is occasionally inaccurate in 
her dates; in her record of Johnson's conversation it 
is extremely probable that her memory sometimes 
played her false, and that, like Boswell, she found 
herself obliged to draw upon her imagination for a 
Johnsonian phrase; but in the larger matter of gen- 
eral truthfulness, her record, when compared with 
other records of Johnson, will be found not only lov- 
ing, but accurate, not only brilliant, but reliable. 

And now with trembling quill and an adequate 
sense of my own unfitness, I come to the point where 
it is necessary to say something of the great pro- 
tagonist of the following pages — if, indeed, anything 
more can safely be said ! So much has been written 



Introduction xxvii 

of Samuel Johnson that it would now be unwise, if 
it were possible, to avoid the commonplaces of criti- 
cism. Johnson is, we have been frequently told, the 
most completely preserved of any figure in our his- 
tory. It is unlikely that any one, even in this day of 
" personal interviews," will be inclined to dispute it. 
I touch upon the matter now only by way of pointing 
out that this familiarity with Johnson in the end 
breeds no contempt. Posterity may follow Johnson 
into the gloom of his solitude, may intrude into his 
very confessional, and even scrutinize his final agony 
as he lay through long weeks waiting for death; but 
the completeness of the revelation (and who could 
be found to covet a similar one for himself?), 
though it has led many to patronize, has caused few 
to sneer. It is the slow death of his works — destined 
perhaps to include even the Lives of the Poets — 
simultaneously with the perfect preservation of his 
reputation that has puzzled the critics, and driven 
them to explain away Johnson's greatness by the fame 
of the books which record him. It is Boswell, we 
are often told, that made Johnson great. Mr. 
Thomas Seccombe, for example, is at a loss to find 
other explanation for the greatness of the man than 
" the extent and accuracy of our information about 
him," and intimates that the bird of immortality is 
capricious in its perching, and the critic leaves the 
reader of the Bookman to infer that there is, when all 
is said, something accidental about Johnson's im- 
mortality. I should be sorry if the present volume 
contributed to spread this notion. I consider these 



xxviii Introduction 

reminiscences, for reasons that I have brought for- 
ward, a capital specimen of the personal record in 
literature; but I am far from thinking that this, or 
any book like it, accounts for the greatness of Samuel 
Johnson. We cannot dispose of the miracle of the 
Great Dictator by expatiating on the perfection of 
works about him; for, if we could, it would next be 
necessary to inquire whence came this invincible im- 
pulse to record the man, an impulse which men and 
women felt alike. Why, as Carlyle asked long ago, 
did Boswell, among all the great men whom he knew, 
fasten upon Johnson? In all this biographical activ- 
ity, what was the causa causansf 

It is easy to say that Boswell's choice of Johnson 
as a biographical subject was owing to the latter's 
literary eminence, and this is partly true. But whence, 
we must ask again, came Johnson's literary eminence? 
Why was he the acknowledged Dictator? There 
was certainly no sufficient explanation of this in his 
literary works. It is, indeed, sometimes supposed 
that readers in the eighteenth century hung over the 
pages of Rasselas and the Rambler with a breathless 
rapture ; but this is far from true. Those books were 
of course more widely and enthusiastically read than 
they are to-day, but they were commonly recognized 
by Johnson's friends, and by Johnson himself, for 
that matter, as no sufficient explanation of his fame. 
Fanny Burney herself had difficulty in reading Ras- 
selas because of its " dreadful " subject, a subject 
which Miss Hannah More found " as cheerful as the 
Dead Sea." Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was 



Introduction xxix 

bored by the Rambler, " who follows the Spectator 
with the same pace that a pack-horse would a hunter." 
Johnson himself found it, as modern readers do, 
"too wordy." So that even in 1778 it was difficult 
to give a satisfactory explanation of Johnson's ac- 
knowledged supremacy. The puzzle was already 
stated. It was hoped that the publication of the 
Lives of the Poets would establish his fame once for 
all; but, splendid as was that achievement, it was not 
sufficiently great to account for his reputation. Cer- 
tain of the biographies were received with a storm of 
merited protest; some were completely negligible; 
others gave evidence of distorted critical standards; 
and yet others betrayed evidences of haste and of in- 
adequate preparation. Johnson himself realized that 
the work was no satisfactory representation of the 
powers that were in him. But even had it been so, 
even had it satisfied the most eager demands of his 
admirers, it would still be not an explanation of his 
supreme position but an illustration ofj it. His fame 
had been long since established, and was now hardly 
susceptible of sudden change. Here was an author 
whose fame already transcended that tof all his works 
combined, who filled those close to him with a desire 
to do justice to his personality in written records of 
it, a personality that stimulated hatred as well as love, 
but left nobody indifferent. There; is, it would there- 
fore appear, no hope of falling b#ck upon Johnson's 
position in the literary world as ?tfi explanation of his 
fame ; and yet the conviction peijslsts that he Is really 
a figure in English literature, j^yen Mr : §§ccpmbe 



xxx Introduction 

has written a book called the Age of Johnson. It is 
evident that Johnson represents more than Johnson 
achieved; that he stimulated more than he wrote. 

There is a principle in the history of modern liter- 
ature which I think will help us. It has not, so far 
as I am aware, been definitely formulated, though it 
is unconsciously employed by all discerning critics. 
Modern literary history, we are coming to see, con- 
sists of something more than the belles lettres which it 
contains. With the rise of what I may call the per- 
sonal record in literature — biographies, diaries, and 
letters — there has entered literature a new interest 
which tends quite as often to centre in the individual 
who creates as in the book created. It is an interest 
which is stimulated not so much by felicities of style, 
or excitement of plot, or brilliant imagination, as by 
an acquaintance with the secret places of some great 
man's mind. It is the desire of knowing the whole of 
a giant personality, its weakness and its vagaries, its 
passion and its pride. It desires to ransack the very 
holy of holies and find out its secret. It was this in- 
terest that Johnson himself felt in literature. " Sir," 
he would say, " the biographical part of literature is 
what I love most." Now it is most important to 
notice that such an interest as this may exist quite 
independently of our appreciation of an author's 
books. Johnson himself felt a profound interest in 
men like Savage, whose poetry he held in low esteem. 
And if such an interest be sufficiently diffused, it may 
result that a man attains a position in literature not 
by what he has himself contributed to it, but by a 



Introduction xxxi 

kind of transcendental force which he exerts upon it 
by virtue of what he was. The literature of the 
nineteenth century is fertile in examples of what I 
am trying to describe. Take the case of Byron. He 
is unlike enough to Johnson, in all conscience; yet 
there is the very problem in his case that we are con- 
sidering in Johnson's. Upon what is based the en- 
during fame of the man? Who now reads Byron? 
The dramas are forgotten, and the early Oriental 
tales are grown a little shabby. Even Don Juan seems 
too long. And the lyrics, fresh and fervid as they 
yet are, nevertheless fall below the best productions 
of Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth. Yet there is 
the star of the man's fame burning on ; distance does 
not dim its radiance nor reduce its magnitude. Byron 
has lived; only Childe Harold is dead. He, like 
Johnson, has survived not so much because of a purely 
literary achievement as by virtue of a remarkable 
temper of mind, an ardor, an attitude toward life, a 
force and a fire. What is the secret of his influence? 
His works alone will never explain it, and fortunately 
or unfortunately, he had no Boswell. What was it 
that fired the imagination of Goethe? Was it 
Manfred that Goethe loved, or Cain? or was it that 
bright, perverse spirit who created these, his lesser 
selves? However we may try to escape the conclu- 
sion, are we not forced to assert at last that his reputa- 
tion springs to-day, as it did a century ago, from his in- 
fluence upon other men rather than from his books? 
That fire did not spring from books alone which 
kindled a new school of poets in Spain and in Italy. 



xxxii Introduction 

The note which is heard to-day in the rending har- 
monies of Tschaikowski, that is the genuine voice of 
Byron, that and not the mocking cry which too often 
echoes that voice in Byron's verse. The English poet 
speaks to-day with greater authority in Russian music 
than he ever spoke in English verse. His spirit is 
still at work among us, producing greater works than 
any that were actually done in his own name, and 
that miracle will continue until another supreme 
patron of the philosophy of revolt shall usurp his 
dominion, and rule his disciples in his stead. 

Now this same high potential which Bryon had, 
was Johnson's in large measure. Whenever this 
dynamic power makes its appearance, it operates in 
remarkable and unusual ways. It may divert the 
whole stream of literature into new channels, as did 
Byron, or confine it in old ones, as did Johnson. It 
may color the very language and style of authors, 
causing other men's work to have the ring of a quota- 
tion. It makes small men large, breaks down fears 
and prejudices in timorous minds, suddenly exalting 
them to levels which they have never reached before, 
and which indeed they are by nature unable to reach. 
It impels them to accomplishments of which they 
had deemed themselves incapable. Above all, it sets 
in motion a whole current of feelings and ideas 
that swells as it moves away from its source. Pre- 
sumably the greatest authors have always this ability, 
but there are other orders of genius who possess it 
in apparent independence of the highest literary skill. 
The main interest of these men is always in literature, 



Introduction xxxiii 

but they are sometimes incapable of producing it 
without a medium, for their work is rather with 
men than with books. Thus such men become a 
type. They bear, as Oscar Wilde said of himself, 
" a symbolic relation to their age," and those who 
fail to find in them an author may amuse themselves 
by the attempt to discover there an era. Of these 
men is Samuel Johnson, and this is the secret of his 
fame. 

Let us now consider some of the ways in which 
Johnson infused his genius into his age. To begin 
with, he was generally recognized as an author whose 
influence transcended that usually exerted by authors. 
Here let me quote a contemporary eulogy of Johnson 
which puts into heroic couplets what I am trying 
to say: 

By nature's gifts, ordained mankind to rule, 
He, like a Titian, formed his brilliant school. . . . 
Our boasted Goldsmith felt the sovereign sway; 
From him derived the sweet yet nervous lay. . . . 
With Johnson's fame melodious Burney glows, 
While the grand strain in smoother cadence flows. . . . 
Amid these names can Boswell be forgot, 
Scarce by North Britons now esteemed a Scot ? 
Who to the Sage devoted from his youth, 
Imbibed from him the sacred love of truth, 
The keen research and exercise of mind, 
And that best art, the art to know mankind. 

Poor verses, we may grant, but rather good criticism. 
Consider, in particular, Johnson's influence upon 



xxxiv Introduction 

Goldsmith. Who can doubt that the style of Doctor 
Minor, superior as it is to that of Doctor Major, 
would yet have been a very different thing if Gold- 
smith had never read the Rambler? Both Boswell 
and Dr. Warton noted the influence of Johnson upon 
Goldsmith's conversation, particularly in his attempt 
to employ difficult words, but they might have dis- 
covered even subtler evidences of it in his writings. 
The particular power of Johnson that Goldsmith 
longed for was the older man's ability to sum up 
a whole department of things in one telling sentence. 
It was a power that Goldsmith never attained, but 
his attempts were numerous. Hear, for example, 
the voice of Johnson speaking through these words 
of Goldsmith at the opening of the latter's Life of 
Nash: " History owes its excellence more to the 
writer's manner than to the materials of which it 
is composed," or this from the Life of Voltaire, 
" That life which has been wholly employed in the 
study is properly seen only in the author's writings; 
there is no variety to entertain, nor adventure to in- 
terest us in the calm succession of such anecdotes." 
It is only an echo, to be sure, but we know whence 
issued the original sound. 

That the influence of Johnson's style was the most 
potent brought to bear upon English style in the 
second half of the 1 8th century cannot, I think, 
be disputed. Boswell's discussion of it, and his ac- 
companying list of examples of direct imitation are 
too convincing to be neglected. There is something 
of its fine dignity in the best of Burke and of Gibbon ; 



Introduction xxxv 

and it is probable that the serious student of style 
still finds his best examples of the more elaborate 
manner in the pages of Johnson. The very enemies 
of the man recognized the force of the authority 
he exerted, so that Churchill, in his caricature of him 
as Pomposo, dubs him the 

Vain idol of a scribbling crowd, 
Whose very name inspires an awe, 
Whose every word is sense and law. 

Influence of a very different kind, which never- 
theless reveals the kinetic force which I have been 
describing, is shown by his relation with the art of 
his time. This is the more significant because John- 
son was by nature unfitted to appreciate the delicate 
distinctions of color and form. It is doubtful if he 
ever saw the outlines of paintings clearly. And yet 
he is certainly to be thanked for having inspired some 
of the finest pictures in the history of English art. 
That Reynolds should have painted Johnson once 
is of course no sufficient ground for critical deduc- 
tion of any kind; but that he should have returned 
to the subject again and again, painting him at least 
a dozen times, if we count copies — this is a fact 
of which we are not likely to exaggerate the sig- 
nificance. Most people know the famous portrait 
in the National Gallery, the one which Reynolds 
painted for Johnson's gay young friend Beauclerk, 
and on the frame of which the owner wrote an in- 
scription proclaiming that beneath this rude exterior 
there dwelt a giant mind. To me the most notice- 



xxxvi Introduction 

able thing about the portrait has always been that 
in it, almost alone among his portraits, Reynolds 
makes no attempt to conceal the crudeness of the 
exterior that he is representing. Here surely is the 
craglike quality of Johnson. If we had only this 
one portrait of Reynolds, it would naturally be as- 
sumed that he had the virile realism of a Velasquez. 
But I know of no other in which he attains the 
utter clarity of the Spaniard, the power of naked 
fact. What was the force that woke the gentle 
Reynolds to this unaccustomed power? Was the 
influence different in kind from that which worked 
upon the style of Goldsmith and upon the mind of 
Boswell? This conclusion is not so slightly based 
as it may seem at first. It is certainly obvious that 
a painter bestows prolonged and affectionate atten- 
tion only upon that which has fascinated his intellect 
and his sympathy. No artist of the abilities of a 
Reynolds will consent to paint an unsympathetic sub- 
ject a dozen times. But Reynolds loved the task be- 
cause he loved the inspiration which he drew from 
the mere presence of the man. And so he painted 
him as he appeared after the completion of the 
Dictionary, seated at his desk in an arm-chair in 
complacent meditation on the completed work. He 
painted him again for his step-daughter, Miss Lucy 
Porter, and this time in a form more or less idealized, 
in conventional Roman costume, without his wig. It 
is Reynolds's most touching portrait of him, for 
in it he has allowed the suffering and the sympathy 
of Johnson which he had witnessed so often to pre- 



Introduction xxxvii 

dominate over the ruder strength of countenance. 
Yet again he painted him as he appeared when read- 
ing a book, " tearing the heart out " of it in his 
impatience to be at the core of the author's meaning. 
He painted him as he must have appeared when a 
young man, resting his chin upon his hand, and hold- 
ing a copy of Irene; and as if this were not enough, 
went farther, and painted a wholly imaginary and 
wholly delightful portrait of him in his infancy, rep- 
resenting a Herculean babe, with head sunk in pre- 
cocious contemplation of the insoluble problem of 
human existence, a veritable Infant Samuel. Such 
is the nature of Johnson's impress upon the painter. 
But the impress of which it is most necessary to 
speak is that upon James Boswell, for this is the 
very greatest instance of Johnson's dynamic energy. 
It is strange that it should be necessary to point this 
out; but critics will do all they can to explain away 
the miracle which Johnson wrought in creating out 
of Boswell a greater author than himself. The won- 
der of the result has actually obscured appreciation 
of the man who produced it. Boswell himself real- 
ized it fully. Here is an unpublished passage from 
one of his own letters (March 3, 1772) to Johnson: 

I fairly own that after an absence from you 
for any length of time, I feel that I require 
a renewal of that spirit which your presence 
always gives me, and which makes me a better 
and a happier man than I had imagined I could 
be, before I was introduced to your acquaintance. 



xxxviii Introduction 

The greatness of Boswell's record, when all is said, 
is simply Samuel Johnson, who is not merely the 
subject, but in the last analysis the author too. We 
have heard overmuch of Boswell's hero-worship and 
of the service which he did that hero in preserving 
his memory; but it is time that we remind ourselves 
of what the hero did for the disciple. Genius begot 
genius. The greatest contribution of Samuel John- 
son to English literature was James Boswell. 

I have a suspicion that in saying this I am perhaps 
in danger of ending, as I began, with a common- 
place. But in an age which has somewhat over- 
indulged itself in the subtleties of criticism, it is some- 
times well to remind ourselves of the simple old 
truths. We have heard too much of the inessential 
Johnson, of spilled pudding-sauce, irrelevant ejacula- 
tions of the Lord's Prayer, slipper-snatchings, and 
other stories interesting to schoolboys, but of doubt- 
ful authenticity and of small significance. It is time 
to dwell again upon Johnson's kindness, his courage, 
his respect for rank and achievement in an age whose 
general tendency was downwards, his Catholic faith 
in an era of timid skepticism and cheap tolerance, and 
above all, to reckon with his dynamic influence upon 
his friends. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 



Dr. Johnson Frontispiece ^ 

Streatham, 1787 16 <" 

Letter of Miss Burney's to Mrs. Thrale . . . 62 V 
An unpublished letter of Sir Joshua Reynolds to Mrs. 

Thrale, referring to Miss Burney . . . .96^ 
A caricature of Johnson, published soon after the 

Lives of the Poets 124 \/ 

Fanny Burney in 1782 146 ^ 

A caricature of Johnson, dated 1782 . . . . 150K 
An unpublished letter of Boswell's, referring to John- 
son and Miss Burney 160 v " 

The Ghost of Johnson Haunting Mrs. Thrale . . 198 v 
The Bust of Johnson Frowning at Boswell, Courtenay, 

and Mrs. Thrale 202 l 

The proof of the frontispiece to Boswell's Life (first 

state) 208 v 

The proof of the frontispiece to Boswell's Life (second 

state) 2o8 w 

First page of the proof-sheets of Johnson's Life of Pope 216 y 
Frontispiece to the Lives of the Poets, 178 1 . .- . 218 ^ 
Anonymous engraving of Johnson in the last years of 

his life .1 m 242 ^ 



ABBREVIATIONS FOR BOOKS COMMONLY REFERRED TO 
IN THE NOTES. 

Life, Boswell's Life of Johnson, Hill's Edition, Oxford, 1887. Six 

volumes. 
-Letters, Letters of Dr. Samuel Johnson, Hill's edition, Oxford, 

1892. Two volumes. 
\Miscellanies, Johnsonian Miscellanies, Hill's edition, Oxford, 1897. 

Two volumes. 
Diary, The Diary and Letters of Mme. D'Arblay, edited by Austin 

Dobson, London, 1904. Six volumes. 
Early Diary, The Early Diary of Frances Burney, 1768-1778, edited 

by Annie Raine Ellis, London, 1889. Two volumes. 
Memoirs, Memoirs of Doctor Burney, by his daughter, Mme. 

D'Arblay, London, 1832. Three volumes. 
Works, The Works of Samuel Johnson, London, 1787. Eleven 

volumes. 
N.E.D., A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles, Ox- 
ford. 
D.N.B., Dictionary of National Biography. 



DR. JOHNSON AND FANNY BURNEY 

EXTRACT FROM THE EARLY DIARY 

28th March. 1 
My dear Daddy, 2 

My dear father seemed well pleased at my re- 
turning to my time; and that is no small consolation 
and pleasure to me. So now, to our Thursday morn- 
ing party. 

Mrs. and Miss Thrale, Miss Owen, and Mr. 
Seward came long before Lexiphanes. 3 Mrs. Thrale 
is a very pretty woman still; she is extremely lively 
and chatty; has no supercilious or pedantic airs, and is 
really gay and agreeable. Her daughter 4 is about 

*A letter of Miss Burney's to Mr. Samuel Crisp, from the Early 
Diary, 2. 153 ft. The events described took place at Dr. Burney's 
residence. 

2 The letter is addressed to Mr. Samuel Crisp, Miss Burney's 
closest friend and mentor in her earlier days. He was many years 
older than her father, and she affectionately termed him " Daddy." 
At this time he was living in retirement at a spot called Chessing- 
ton, a few miles south of the Thames in Surrey, now within the 
Metropolitan Police District. 

3 Lexiphanes, a title applied to Johnson in a pamphlet of the same 
name by " horrible Campbell," and designed to ridicule Johnson's 
style and works. It appeared in 1767. 

4 Hester Maria, Mrs. Thrale's eldest child, born 1764. Johnson 
commonly called her " Queeny," " whose name being Esther, she 
might be assimilated to a Queen." (Life, 3.422 n.) This estimate 
of Miss Thrale is later revised; see p. 25. Susan Burney had 
originally the same impression, p. 242. 

1 



2 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [i777 

twelve years old, (stiff and proud), I believe, (or 
else shy and reserved: I don't yet know which). 
Miss Owen, who is a relation, is good-humoured 
and sensible enough; she is a sort of butt, and, as 
such, a general favourite; for those sort of characters 
are prodigiously useful in drawing out the wit and 
pleasantry of others. Mr. Seward 1 is a very polite, 
agreeable young man. 

My sister Burney 2 was invited to meet and play to 
them. The conversation was supported with a good 
deal of vivacity (N.B. my father being at home) 
for about half an hour, and then Hetty and Susette 2 
for the first time in public, played a duet ; and in the 
midst of this performance Dr. Johnson was an- 
nounced. He is, indeed, very ill-favoured; is tall and 
stout; but stoops terribly; he is almost bent double. 
His mouth is almost [continually opening and shut- 
ting], 3 as if he was chewing. He has a strange 
method of frequently twirling his fingers, and twist- 
ing his hands. His body is in continual agitation, 
see-sawing up and down ; his feet are never a moment 
quiet; and, in short, his whole person is in perpetual 
motion. His dress, too, considering the times, and 
that he had meant to put on his best becomes, being 

1 " Seward, William, was author of Anecdotes of Distinguished- 
Persons, in five volumes, and Biographiana, a sequel to the same 
in two volumes." (Barrett.) Boswell, to whom he furnished 
" several communications concerning Johnson," praises him for his 
sociability. 

2 Her sisters, Esther ("my sister Burney"), and Susan. It was 
only "Susette" who was playing "for the first time in public." 

8 There is a break in the MS. at this point. The words in 
brackets are supplied from the parallel (and debased) account in 
the Memoirs, 2. 91. 



1777] Johnson's Personal Appearance 3 

engaged to dine in a large company, was as much 
out of the common road as his figure ; he had a large 
wig, snuff-colour coat, and gold buttons, but no 
ruffles to his [shirt], doughty fists, 1 and black worsted 
stockings. He is shockingly near-sighted, and did 
not, till she held out her hand to him, even know 
Mrs. Thrale. 2 He poked his nose over the keys of 
the harpsichord, till the duet was finished, and then 
my father introduced Hetty to him as an old ac- 
quaintance, and he cordially kissed her! When she 
was a little girl, he had made her a present of The 
Idler. 

His attention, however, was not to be diverted five 
minutes from the books, as we were in the library; 
he pored over them, shelf by shelf, almost touching 
the backs of them with his eye-lashes, as he read 
their titles. At last, having fixed upon one, he be- 
gan, without further ceremony, to read to himself, 
all the time standing at a distance from the company. 
We were all very much provoked, as we perfectly 
languished to hear him talk; but it seems he is the 
most silent creature, when not particularly drawn 
out, 3 in the world. 

My sister then played another duet with my father; 
but Dr. Johnson was so deep in the Encyclopedie 

1 Another passage in which Mme. d'Arblay has tampered with 
what Miss Burney wrote. Mrs. Ellis conjectures that the passage 
originally read " dirty fists." 

2 Cf. Appendix, p. 241. 

* " Mr. Thomas Tyers said he was like the ghosts, who never 
speak till they are spoken to; and he [Johnson] liked the ex- 
pression so well that he often repeated it." (Piozzi's 'Anecdotes,' 
Miscellanies, 1. 290.) 



4 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1777 

that, as he is very deaf, I question if he even knew 
what was going forward. 1 When this was over, 
Mrs. Thrale, in a laughing manner, said, " Pray, 
Dr. Burney, can you tell me what that song was and 
whose, which Savoi sung last night at Bach's 2 Con- 
cert, and which you did not hear?" My father 
confessed himself by no means so good a diviner, not 
having had time to consult the stars, though in the 
house of Sir Isaac Newton. 3 However, wishing to 
draw Dr. Johnson into some conversation, he told 
him the question. The Doctor, seeing his drift, good- 
naturedly put away his book, and said very drolly, 
" And pray, Sir, who is Bach? is he a piper?" 
Many exclamations of surprise, you will believe, fol- 
lowed this question. " Why you have read his name 
often in the papers," said Mrs. Thrale; and then 
she gave him some account of his Concert, and 
the number of fine performances she had heard 
at it. 

" Pray," said he, gravely, " Madam, what is the 
expense? " 

" Oh ! " answered she, " much trouble and solicita- 
tion, to get a Subscriber's Ticket; — or else, half a 
Guinea." 

1 Probably an extreme statement. Other authentic accounts of 
Johnson do not lead us to suppose that he was so deaf as this. 
Dr. Burney himself records {Life, 2.409), "he was observed to 
listen very attentively while Miss Thrale played on the harpsichord, 
and with eagerness he called to her, 'Why don't you dash away 
like Burney?'" (Cf. Hawkins's Life, p. 319.) 

2 Johann Christian Bach, 1735-1782, son of the great composer. 
He lived in London from 1759 until his death. 

8 Dr. Burney's house, No. 1 (now 35), St. Martin's Street, was at 
one time the residence of Sir Isaac Newton. 



1777] Johnson Supports the Conversation 5 

11 Trouble and solicitation," said he, " I will have 
nothing to do with; but I would be willing to give 
eighteen pence." 1 

Ha ! ha ! 

Chocolate being then brought, we adjourned to the 
drawing-room. And here, Dr. Johnson being taken 
from the books, entered freely and most cleverly 
into conversation; though it is remarkable he never 
speaks at all, but when spoken to; nor does he 
ever start, 2 though he so admirably supports, any 
subject. 

The whole party was engaged to dine at Mrs. 



1 Cf. p. 245. Music interested Johnson chiefly because of the 
difficulty of its performance. He praised the virtuoso, but owned to 
Boswell that he was " very insensible of the power of music." 

(Life, 3. 197.) Mme. D'Arblay writes in the Memoirs, "It was not 
till after he had become intimately acquainted with Dr. Burney and 
his various merits, that he ceased to join in a jargon so unworthy 
of his liberal judgment, as that of excluding musicians and their 
art from celebrity. The first symptom that he showed of a tendency 
to conversion upon this subject, was upon hearing the following 
paragraph read, accidentally, aloud by Mrs. Thrale, from the 
preface to the History of Music, while yet in manuscript ' The 
love of lengthened tones and modulated sounds, seems a passion 
implanted in human nature throughout the globe; as we hear of 
no people, however wild and savage in other particulars, who have 
not music of some kind or other, with which they seem greatly 
delighted.' 'Sir!' cried Dr. Johnson, after a little pause, 'this 
assertion I believe may be right.' And then, see-sawing a minute 
or two in his chair, added: 'All animated nature loves music — 
except myself! ' Some time later, when Dr. Burney perceived that 
he was generally gaining ground in the house, he said to Mrs. 
Thrale, who had been civilly listening to some favourite air that 
he had been playing: 'I have yet hopes, Madam, with the assist- 
ance of my pupil, to see yours become a musical family. Nay, I 
even hope, Sir!' turning to Dr. Johnson, 'I shall some time or 
other make you also, sensible to the power of my art.' ' Sir,' an- 
swered the Doctor, smiling, ' I shall be very glad to have a new 
sense put into me! ' " 

2 See p. 3, and note 3. 



6 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1777 

Montagu's. 1 Dr. Johnson said he had received the 
most flattering note he had ever read, or that any 
body else had ever read, by way of invitation. 
" Well! so have I too," cried Mrs. Thrale; " so if 
a note from Mrs. Montagu is to be boasted of, I 
beg mine may not be forgot." 

" Your note," cried Dr. Johnson, " can bear no 
comparison with mine; I am at the head of the 
Philosophers, she says." 

" And I," cried Mrs. Thrale, " have all the Muses 
in my train!" 

" A fair battle," said my father. " Come, com- 
pliment for compliment, and see who will hold out 
longest." 

" Oh ! I am afraid for Mrs. Thrale," cried Mr. 
Seward; " for I know Mrs. Montague exerts all her 
forces, when she attacks Dr. Johnson." 

"Oh, yes!" said Mrs. Thrale, "she has often, 
I know, flattered him, till he has been ready to faint." 

" Well, ladies," said my father, " you must get 
him between you to-day, and see which can lay on 
the paint thickest, Mrs. Thrale or Mrs. Montagu." 

" I had rather," cried the Doctor, drily, "go to 
Bach's Concert!" 

After this, they talked of Mr. Garrick and his late 

1 For descriptions of the personality, manner, and learning of 
Mrs. Montagu, the famous Bluestocking, see below, pp. 68 if. and 
especially pp. 74-75, where a conversation between her and Johnson 
is reported. Early in the decade of the 8o's a " coolness " sprang 
up between them, and Johnson humorously complains of being 
"dropped" by the lady {Life, 4.73); their reconciliation is de- 
scribed below, p. 1 80. No account of the jemm.es savantes of the 
eighteenth century is superior to Miss Burney's; but compare 
Hannah More's Bas Bleu, and the letters of Horace Walpole, 
passim. 



I 777] Garrick Reads to the King 7 

exhibition before the King, to whom and to the 
Queen and Royal Family he read Lethe 1 in character, 
c'est a dire, in different voices, and theatrically. Mr. 
Seward gave us an account of a Fable, which Mr. 
Garrick had written, by way of prologue or intro- 
duction, upon the occasion. In this he says, that a 
blackbird, grown old and feeble, droops his wings, 
etc. etc., and gives up singing; but being called upon 
by the eagle, his voice recovers its powers, his spirits 
revive, he sets age at defiance, and sings better than 
ever. The application is obvious. 

" There is not," said Dr. Johnson, " much of the 
spirit of fabulosity in this Fable; for the call of an 
eagle never yet had much tendency to restore the 
voice of a blackbird! 'Tis true that the fabulists 
frequently make the wolves converse with the lambs; 
but, when the conversation is over, the lambs are sure 
to be eaten ! And so the eagle may entertain the 
blackbird; but the entertainment always ends in a 
feast for the eagle." 

" They say," cried Mrs. Thrale, " that Garrick 
was extremely hurt at the coolness of the King's ap- 
plause, and did not find his reception such as he 
expected." 

1 An old farce of Garrick's, produced as early as 1740, in which 
he had commonly acted the part of Lord Chalkstone. " The tire- 
some and unnatural profundity of respectful solemnity" observed 
at court during the recitation of farces is amusingly illustrated in 
a later volume of the Diary (4. 359 if.), when it was Miss Burney's 
fate to read Colman's Polly Honeycomb to the queen. She adds, 
" Easily can I now conceive the disappointment and mortification 
of poor Mr. Garrick when he read Lethe to a royal audience." 

Garrick had retired from the stage in January of the previous 
year (1776). 



8 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1777 

" He has been so long accustomed," said Mr. 
Seward, " to the thundering approbation of the 
Theatre, that a mere ' Very welly must necessarily 
and naturally disappoint him." 

" Sir," said Dr. Johnson, " he should not, in a 
Royal apartment, expect the hallowing and clamour 
of the One Shilling Gallery. The King, I doubt not, 
gave him as much applause as was rationally his due; 
and, indeed, great and uncommon as is the merit of 
Mr. Garrick, no man will be bold enough to assert 
he has not had his just proportion both of fame and of 
profit. He has long reigned the unequalled favourite 
of the public; and therefore nobody will mourn his 
hard fate, if the King and the Royal Family were 
not transported into rapture, upon hearing him read 
Lethe. Yet Mr. Garrick will complain to his friends, 
and his friends will lament the King's want of feeling 
and taste ; — and then Mr. Garrick will kindly excuse 
the King. He will say that His Majesty might be 
thinking of something else; that the affairs of Am- 
erica might occur to him; or some subject of more 
importance than Lethe; but, though he will say this 
himself, he will not forgive his friends, if they do 
not contradict him ! " 

But now that I have written this satire, it is but just 
both to Mr. Garrick and to Dr. Johnson, to tell you 
what he said of him afterwards, when he discrimi- 
nated his character with equal candour and humour. 1 

1 " Sir Joshua Reynolds observed, with great truth, that Johnson 
considered Garrick to be as it were his property. He would allow 
no man either to blame or to praise Garrick in his presence, with- 
out contradicting him." {Life, 3.312.) See below, pp. 20-21. 



1777] Garrick Always the Actor 9 

" Garrick," said he, " is accused of vanity; but 
few men would have borne such unremitting pros- 
perity with greater, if with equal moderation. He is 
accused, too, of avarice; but, were he not, he would 
be accused of just the contrary; for he now lives 
rather as a prince than an actor ; but the frugality x 
he practised, when he first appeared in the world, and 
which, even then was perhaps beyond his necessity, 
has marked his character ever since ; and now, though 
his table, the equipage, and manner of living, are all 
the most expensive, and equal to those of a nobleman, 
yet the original stain still blots his name ! Though, 
had he not fixed upon himself the charge of avarice, 
he would long since have been reproached with 
luxury and with living beyond his station in magnifi- 
cence and splendour." 

Another time he said of him, " Garrick never enters 
a room, but he regards himself as the object of gen- 
eral attention, from whom the entertainment of the 
company is expected; and true it is, that he seldom 
disappoints them; for he has infinite humour, a very 
just proportion of wit, and more convivial pleasantry, 
than almost any other man. But then off, as well as 
on the Stage, 2 he is always an Actor ; for he thinks it 
so incumbent upon him to be sportive, that his gaiety 
becomes mechanical from being habitual, and he can 
exert his spirits at all times alike, without consult- 
ing his real disposition to hilarity." 

1 For Garrick's frugality, cf. Life, 1.392; 3.264. 
2 " On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 
'Twas only that, when he was off, he was acting." 

Goldsmith, Retaliation (1774). 



io Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY AND LETTERS 

July 20. ... I have also had a letter from 
Susanne. She informs me that my father, when he 
took the books back to Streatham, 1 actually acquainted 
Mrs. Thrale with my secret. 2 He took an oppor- 
tunity, when they were alone together, of saying that . 
upon her recommendation, he had himself, as well as 
my mother, been reading Evelina. 

" Well! " cried she, " and is it not a very pretty 
book? and a very clever book? and a very comical 
book?" 

"Why," answered he, " 'tis well enough; but I 
have something to tell you about it." 

" Well? what? " cried she; " has Mrs. Cholmonde- 
ley 3 found out the author?" 

"No," returned he, "not that I know of; but I 
believe I have, though but very lately." 

" Well, pray let's hear ! " cried she eagerly, " I 
want to know him of all things." 

How my father must laugh at the him! He then, 
however, undeceived her in regard to that particu- 
lar, by telling her it was "our Fanny!" for she 
knows all about all our family, as my father talks 

1 Streatham is some six miles south of London. The house, a 
beautiful Georgian structure, was demolished in 1863. Johnson, 
who had met the Thrales in 1765, was living there as early as July, 
1766. (Letters, 1.43.) See below, p. 241. 

2 That she was the author of Evelina. For Susan Burney's ac- 
count of Mrs. Thrale's interest in the anonymous author, see 
Appendix, pp. 239-40. 

8 Mrs. Cholmondeley, the famous wit and femme savante, whose 
name appears often in the pages of the Diary. She was " the first 
person who publicly praised and commended Evelina among the 
wits." (Below, p. 239.) 



1778] Mrs. Thrale Writes of Evelina 11 

to her of his domestic concerns without any 
reserve. 

A hundred handsome things, of course, followed; 
and she afterwards read some of the comic parts to 
Dr. Johnson, Mr. Thrale, and whoever came near 
her. How I should have quivered had I been there ! 
but they tell me that Dr. Johnson laughed as heartily 
as my father himself did. 

August 3. — I have an immensity to write. Susan 
has copied me a letter which Mrs. Thrale has written 
to my father, upon the occasion of returning my 
mother two novels by Madame Riccoboni. It is so 
honourable to me, and so sweet in her, that I must 
copy it for my faithful journal. 

"Wednesday, 22 (July), 1778, 
" Streatham. 
" Dear Sir — I forgot to give you the novels home 
in your carriage which I now send by Mr. Abingdon's. 
Evelina certainly excels them far enough, both in 
probability of story, elegance of sentiment, and gen- 
eral power over the mind, whether exerted in humour 
or pathos. Add to this, that Riccoboni is a veteran 
author, and all she ever can be ; but I cannot tell what 
might not be expected from Evelina, was she to try 
her genius at Comedy. So far had I written of my 
letter, when Mr. Johnson returned home, full of the 
praises of the Book I had lent him, and protesting 
there were passages in it which might do honour to 
Richardson. We talk of it for ever, and he feels 



12 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

ardent after the denouement; he could not get rid of 
the Rogue, he said! I lent him the second volume, 
and he is now busy with the other two [sic]. You 
must be more a philosopher, and less a father, than 
I wish you, not to be pleased with this letter; — and 
the giving such pleasure yields to nothing but receiv- 
ing it. Long my Dear Sir, may you live to enjoy the 
just praises of your children, and long may they live 
to deserve and delight such a parent! These are 
things that you would say in verse; but Poetry im- 
plies Fiction, and all this is naked truth. 

" Give my letter to my little friend, and a warm 
invitation to come and eat fruit, while the season 
lasts. My Compliments to Mrs. Burney, and kind- 
est wishes to all your flock, etc." 

How sweet, how amiable in this charming woman 
is her desire of making my dear father satisfied with 
his scribbler's attempt! I do, indeed, feel the most 
grateful love for her. 

But Dr. Johnson's approbation ! — it almost crazed 
me with agreeable surprise — it gave me such a flight 
of spirits, that I danced a jig to Mr. Crisp, without 
any preparation, music, or explanation — to his no 
small amazement and diversion. I left him, however, 
to make his own comments upon my friskiness, with- 
out affording him the smallest assistance. 

Susan also writes me word, that when my father 
went last to Streatham, 1 Dr. Johnson was not there, 
but Mrs. Thrale told him, that when he gave her the 

1 Cf. below, p. 239. 



1778] Johnson Reads Evelina 13 

first volume of Evelina, which she had lent him, he 
said, " Why, madam, why, what a charming book 
you lent me!" and eagerly inquired for the rest. 
He was particularly pleased with the Snow-hill scenes, 
and said that Mr. Smith's vulgar gentility was ad- 
mirably portrayed; and when Sir Clement joins them, 1 
he said there was a shade of character prodigiously 
well marked. Well may it be said, that the greatest 
minds are ever the most candid to the inferior 
set! I think I should love Dr. Johnson for such 
lenity to a poor mere worm in literature, even 
if I were not myself the identical grub he has 
obliged. 

Susan has sent me a little note which has really 
been less pleasant to me, because it has alarmed me 
for my future concealment. It is from Mrs. Wil- 
liams, 2 an exceedingly pretty poetess, who has the 
misfortune to be blind, but who has, to make some 
amends, the honour of residing in the house of Dr. 
Johnson; for though he lives almost wholly at 
Streatham, he always keeps his apartments in town, 
and this lady acts as mistress of his house. 

"July 25. 

" Mrs. Williams sends compliments to Dr. Burney, 
and begs he will intercede with Miss Burney to 
do her the favour to lend her the reading of 
Evelina!* 

1 See Evelina, letter 46. 

2 Miss Anna Williams, Johnson's well-known housekeeper. Her 
verses were published in 1766, with the title, Miscellanies. Some 
of the poems were contributed by the lady's friends, and the revising 
hand of Johnson is seen throughout. {Life, 2.25-26.) 



14 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

I was quite confounded at this request, which 
proves that Mrs. Thrale has told Dr. Johnson of my 
secret, and that he has told Mrs. Williams, and that 
she has told the person whoever it be, whom she got 
to write the note. 

I instantly scrawled a hasty letter to town to en- 
treat my father would be so good as to write to her, 
to acquaint her with my earnest and unaffected desire 
to remain unknown. 

And yet, though I am frightened at this affair, I 
am by no means insensible to the honour which I 
receive from the certainty that Dr. Johnson must 
have spoken very well of the book, to have induced 
Mrs. Williams to send to our house for it. She has 
known my father indeed for some years, but not with 
any intimacy; and I never saw her, though the perusal 
of her poems has often made me wish to be acquainted 
with her. 

I now come to last Saturday evening, when my 
beloved father came to Chessington, 1 in full health, 
charming spirits, and all kindness, openness, and enter- 
tainment. 

I inquired what he had done about Mrs. Williams. 
He told me he went to her himself at my desire, for 
if he had written she could not herself have read the 
note. She apologised very much for the liberty she 
had taken, and spoke highly of the book, though she 
had only heard the first volume, as she was dependent 
upon a lady's good nature and time for hearing any 
part of it, but she went so far as to say that " his 

1 See above, p. i, note 2, and below, p. 218, note 



1778] Streatham 15 

daughter was certainly the first writer, in that way, 
now living.' ' 

In his way hither, he had stopped at Streatham, 
and he settled with Mrs. Thrale that he would call on 
her again in his way to town, and carry me with him ! 
and Mrs. Thrale said, " We all long to know her." 

I have been in a kind of twitter ever since, for 
there seems something very formidable in the idea of 
appearing as an authoress ! I ever dreaded it, as it 
is a title which must raise more expectations than I 
have any chance of answering. Yet I am highly flat- 
tered by her invitation, and highly delighted in the 
prospect of being introduced to the Streatham society. 

London, August. — I have now to write an account 
of the most consequential day I have spent since my 
birth; namely, my Streatham visit. 

Our journey to Streatham was the least pleasant 
part of the day, for the roads were dreadfully dusty, 
and I was really in the fidgets from thinking what 
my reception might be, and from fearing they would 
expect a less awkward and backward kind of person 
than I was sure they would find. 

Mr. Thrale's house is white, and very pleasantly 
situated, in a fine paddock. Mrs. Thrale was stroll- 
ing about, and came to us as we got out of the 
chaise. 

"Ah," cried she, "I hear Dr. Burney's voice! 
And you have brought your daughter? — well, now 
you are good ! " 

She then received me, taking both my hands, and 



1 6 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

with mixed politeness and cordiality welcoming me to 
Streatham. She led me into the house, and addressed 
herself almost wholly for a few minutes to my father, 
as if to give me an assurance she did not mean to 
regard me as a show, or to distress or frighten me by 
drawing me out. Afterwards she took me upstairs, 
and showed me the house, and said she had very 
much wished to see me at Streatham, and should 
always think herself much obliged to Dr. Burney for 
his goodness in bringing me, which she looked upon 
as a very great favour. 

But though we were some time together, and 
though she was so very civil, she did not hint at my 
book, and I love her very much more than ever for 
her delicacy in avoiding a subject which she could not 
but see would have greatly embarrassed me. 

When we returned to the music-room we found 
Miss Thrale was with my father. Miss Thrale is a 
very fine girl, about fourteen years of age, but cold 
and reserved, though full of knowledge! and in- 
telligence. 1 

Soon after, Mrs. Thrale took me to the library; 
she talked a little while upon common topics, and 
then, at last, she mentioned Evelina. 

" Yesterday at supper," said she, " we talked it all 
over, and discussed all your characters ; but Dr. John- 
son's favourite is Mr. Smith. He declares the fine 
gentleman manque was never better drawn; and he 

1 See above, p. i. Passages in the Early Diary seem to have 
been employed by Miss Burney (or by the first editor of her Diary, 
Mrs. Barrett) in the later and more famous Journal. The careful 
reader will notice many repetitions from this earlier volume both 
in the Diary and the Memoirs. 




CO 



a 

as 
s-l 

CO 



1 8 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

said that I hoped I did not take Dr. Johnson's place ; 
for he had not yet appeared. 

" No," answered Mrs. Thrale, " he will sit by you, 
which I am sure will give him great pleasure." 

Soon after we were seated, this great man entered. 
I have so true a veneration for him, that the very 
sight of him inspires me with delight and reverence, 
notwithstanding the cruel infirmities to which he is 
subject; for he has almost perpetual convulsive move- 
ments, either of his hands, lips, feet, or knees, and 
sometimes of all together. 

Mrs. Thrale introduced me to him, and he took 
his place. We had a noble dinner, and a most ele- 
gant dessert. Dr. Johnson, in the middle of dinner, 
asked Mrs. Thrale what was in some little pies that 
were near him. 

" Mutton," answered she, "so I don't ask you to 
eat any, because I know you despise it." 

"No, madam, no," cried he; "I despise nothing 
that is good of its sort; I am too proud now to eat of 
it. Sitting by Miss Burney makes me very proud to- 
day!" 

" Miss Burney," said Mrs. Thrale, laughing, " you 
must take great care of your heart if Dr. Johnson 
attacks it; for I assure you he is not often success- 
less." 

" What's that you say, madam? " cried he; " are 
you making mischief between the young lady and me 
already? " 

A little while after he drank Miss Thrale's health 
and mine and then added: 



I 77^] Johnson Drinks Fanny's Health 19 

" 'Tis a terrible thing that we cannot wish young 
ladies well, without wishing them to become old 
women ! " 

" But some people," said Mr. Seward, " are old 
and young at the same time, for they wear so well 
that they never look old." 

" No, sir, no," cried the Doctor, laughing; " that 
never yet was; you might as well say that they are 
at the same time tall and short. I remember an 
epitaph to that purpose, which is in ." 

(I have quite forgot what, — and also the name it 
was made upon, but the rest I recollect exactly:) 

" lies buried here; 



So early wise, so lasting fair, 

That none, unless her years you told, 

Thought her a child, or thought her old." 

Mrs. Thrale then repeated some lines in French, 
and Dr. Johnson some more in Latin. An epilogue 
of Mr. Garrick's to Bonduca x was then mentioned, 
and everybody agreed it was the worst he has ever 
made. 

" And yet," said Mr. Seward, " it has been very 
much admired; but it is in praise of English valour, 
and so I suppose the subject made it popular." 

" I don't know, sir," said Dr. Johnson, " anything 
about the subject, for I could not read on till I came 
to it; I got through half a dozen lines, but I could 

1 Garrick's Prologue (not Epilogue) to Fletcher's Bonduca is 
printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for September, 1778 ; the 
same number contains a laudatory notice of Evelina. 



20 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

observe no other subject than eternal dulness. I don't 
know what is the matter with David; I am afraid he 
is grown superannuated, for his prologues and epi- 
logues used to be incomparable." * 

" Nothing is so fatiguing," said Mrs. Thrale, " as 
the life of a wit: he and Wilkes are the two oldest 
men of their ages I know; for they have both worn 
themselves out, by being eternally on the rack to give 
entertainment to others." 

" David, madam," said the Doctor, " looks much 
older than he is; for his face has had double the busi- 
ness of any other man's; it is never at rest; when he 
speaks one minute, he has quite a different countenance 
to what he assumes the next; I don't believe he ever 
kept the same look for half an hour together, in the 
whole course of his life; and such an eternal, rest- 
less, fatiguing play of the muscles, must certainly 
wear out a man's face before its real time." 

" Oh yes," cried Mrs. Thrale, " we must certainly 
make some allowance for such wear and tear of a 
man's face." 2 

The next name that was started, was that of Sir 
John Hawkins : 3 and Mrs. Thrale said, " Why now, 
Dr. Johnson, he is another of those whom you suffer 
nobody to abuse but yourself; Garrick is one, too; 

1 " David Garrick has written more good prologues than Dryden 
has done. It is wonderful that he has been able to write such a 
variety of them." (Life, 2. 325.) 

2 Mrs. Thrale is probably quoting a well-known remark of 
Johnson's. " Dr. Burney having remarked that Mr. Garrick was 
beginning to look old, he said, ' Why, Sir, you are not to wonder 
at that; no man's face has had more wear and tear.' " (Life, 
2.410.) 

"Johnson's literary executor and biographer. 



1778] Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney 21 

for if any other person speaks against him, you brow- 
beat him in a minute ! " x 

" Why, madam," answered he, " they don't know 
when to abuse him, and when to praise him; I will 
allow no man to speak ill of David that he does not 
deserve ; and as to Sir John, why really I believe him 
to be an honest man at the bottom : but to be sure he 
is penurious, and he is mean, and it must be owned he 
has a degree of brutality, and a tendency to savage- 
ness, that cannot easily be defended." 

We all laughed, as he meant we should, at this 
curious manner of speaking in his favour, and he then 
related an anecdote that he said he knew to be true 
in regard to his meanness. He said that Sir John 
and he once belonged to the same club, 2 but that as 
he eat no supper after the first night of his admission, 
he desired to be excused paying his share. 

11 And was he excused? " 

" Oh yes ; for no man is angry at another for being 
inferior to himself; we all scorned him, and admitted 
his plea. For my part I was such a fool as to pay 
my share for wine, though I never tasted any. 3 But 
Sir John was a most unclubable* man! " 

How delighted was I to hear this master of lan- 

*A common observation (cf. above, p. 8, note 1), possibly first 
made by Garrick himself (Life, 3.70); Boswell remarked, "'You 
attack Garrick yourself, but will surfer nobody else to do it.' John- 
son (smiling), 'Why, Sir, that is true'" (ib. 1.393, note). 

2 The famous Literary Club. For the gossip connected with 
Hawkins's resignation, see Life, 1.460. 

3 He practically refrained from drinking during the last twenty 
years of his life. 

4 A word coined by Johnson, not found in his Dictionary. Boswell 
is called clubable. (Life, 1.254, note.) 



22 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

guages so unaffectedly and socially and good-naturedly 
make words, for the promotion of sport and good- 
humour. 

" And this," continued he, " reminds me of a gen- 
tleman and lady with whom I travelled once; I sup- 
pose I must call them gentleman and lady, according 
to form, because they travelled in their own coach 
and four horses. But at the first inn where we 
stopped, the lady called for — a pint of ale ! and when 
it came, quarrelled with the waiter for not giving full 
measure. — Now, Madame Duval x could not have 
done a grosser thing ! " 

Oh, how everybody laughed ! and to be sure I did 
not glow at all, nor munch fast, nor look on my plate, 
nor lose any part of my usual composure ! But how 
grateful do I feel to this dear Dr. Johnson, for never 
naming me and the book as belonging one to the 
other, and yet making an allusion that showed his 
thoughts led to it, and, at the same time, that seemed 
to justify the character as being natural ! But, in- 
deed, the delicacy I met with from him, and from all 
the Thrales, was yet more flattering to me than the 
praise with which I have heard they have honoured 
my book. 

After dinner, when Mrs. Thrale and I left the 
gentlemen, we had a conversation that to me could 
not but be delightful, as she was all good-humour, 
spirits, sense and agreeability. Surely, I may make 
words, when at a loss, if Dr. Johnson does. 2 

X A prominent character in Evelina. 

2 The word had, however, been used by Chaucer. (N.E.D.) 



1778] Mrs Reynolds Reads Evelina 23 

However I shall not attempt to write any more 
particulars of this day — than which I have never 
known a happier, because the chief subject that was 
started and kept up, was an invitation for me to 
Streatham, and a desire that I might accompany my 
father thither next week, and stay with them some 
time. 

We left Streatham at about eight o'clock, and 
Mr. Seward, who handed me into the chaise, added 
his interest to the rest, that my father would not fail 
to bring me again next week to stay with them some 
time. In short I was loaded with civilities from 
them all. And my ride home was equally happy with 
the rest of the day, for my kind and most beloved 
father was so happy in my happiness, and congratu- 
lated me so sweetly that he could, like myself, think 
on no other subject: and he told me that, after 
passing through such a house as that, I could have 
nothing to fear — meaning for my book, my honoured 
book. 

Yet my honours stopped not here; for Hetty, 
who with her sposo 1 was here to receive us, told me 
she had lately met Mrs. Reynolds, 2 sister of Sir 
Joshua; and that she talked very much and very 
highly of a new novel called Evelina; though with- 
out a shadow of suspicion as to the scribbler; and 
not contented with her own praise, she said that Sir 
Joshua, who began it one day when he was too much 
engaged to go on with it, was so much caught, that 

1 Hetty's husband was her cousin, Charles Rousseau Burney. 

2 Miss Frances Reynolds, herself an artist, though of no great 
ability. 



24 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

he could think of nothing else, and was quite absent 
all the day, not knowing a word that was said to 
him: and, when he took it up again, found himself 
so much interested in it, that he sat up all night to 
finish it! 

Sir Joshua, it seems, vows he would give fifty 
pounds to know the author! I have also heard, by 
the means of Charles, 1 that other persons have de- 
clared they will find him out ! 

This intelligence determined me upon going my- 
self to Mr. Lowndes, 2 and discovering what sort of 
answers he made to such curious inquirers as I found 
were likely to address him. But as I did not dare 
trust myself to speak, for I felt that I should not be 
able to act my part well, I asked my mother to ac- 
company me. 

Streatham, Sunday, Aug. 23. — I know not how 
to express the fulness of my contentment at this 
sweet place. All my best expectations are exceeded, 
and you know they were not very moderate. If, 
when my dear father comes, Susan and Mr. Crisp 
were to come too, I believe it would require at least 
a day's pondering to enable me to form another 
wish. 

Our journey was charming. The kind Mrs. Thrale 
would give courage to the most timid. She did not 
ask me questions, or catechise me upon what I knew, 
or use any means to draw me out, but made it her 

1 Her cousin and brother-in-law, mentioned p. 23, note 1. 

2 Her publisher. 



1778] Mrs. Thrale 25 

business to draw herself out — that is, to start sub- 
jects, to support them herself, and to take all the 
weight of the conversation, as if it behoved her to 
find me entertainment. But I am so much in love 
with her, that I shall be obliged to run away from 
the subject, or shall write of nothing else. 

When we arrived here, Mrs. Thrale showed me 
my room, which is an exceedingly pleasant one, and 
then conducted me to the library, there to divert 
myself while she dressed. 

Miss Thrale soon joined me: and I begin to like 
her. Mr. Thrale was neither well nor in spirits all 
day. Indeed, he seems not to be a happy man, 
though he has every means of happiness in his power. 
But I think I have rarely seen a very rich man with 
a light heart and light spirits. 

Dr. Johnson was in the utmost good humour. 

There was no other company at the house all day. 

After dinner, I had a delightful stroll with Mrs. 
Thrale, and she gave me a list of all her " good 
neighbours " in the town of Streatham, and said she 

was determined to take me to see Mr. T , the 

clergyman, who was a character I could not but be 
diverted with, for he had so furious and so absurd 
a rage for building, that in his garden he had as many 
temples, and summer houses, and statues as in the 
gardens of Stow, though he had so little room for 
them that they all seemed tumbling one upon an- 
other. 

In short, she was all unaffected drollery and sweet 
good humour. 



26 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

At tea we all met again, and Dr. Johnson was gaily 
sociable. He gave a very droll account of the chil- 
dren of Mr. Langton, 1 

" Who," he said, " might be very good children 
if they were let alone; but the father is never easy 
when he is not making them do something which 
they cannot do ; they must repeat a fable, or a speech, 
or the Hebrew alphabet; and they might as well 
count twenty, for what they know of the matter: 
however, the father says half, for he prompts every 
other word. But he could not have chosen a man 
who would have been less entertained by such means." 

" I believe not! " cried Mrs. Thrale; " nothing is 
more ridiculous than parents cramming their chil- 
dren's nonsense down other people's throats. I keep 
mine as much out of the way as I can." 

" Yours, madam," answered he, " are in nobody's 
way; no children can be better managed or less 
troublesome; but your fault is a too great perverse- 
ness in not allowing anybody to give them anything. 
Why should they not have a cherry or a gooseberry 
as well as bigger children ? " 

" Because they are sure to return such gifts by 
wiping their hands upon the giver's gown or coat, 
and nothing makes children more offensive. People 
only make the offer to please the parents, and they 
wish the poor children at Jericho when they accept 
it." 

" But, madam, it is a great deal more offensive 
to refuse them. Let those who make the offer look to 

1 " He has his children too much about him." (Life, 3.128.) 
Cf. below, p. 172. 



1778] Mrs. Thrale 27 

their own gowns and coats, for when you interfere, 
they only wish you at Jericho. " 

" It is difficult," said Mrs. Thrale, " to please 
everybody." 

Indeed, the freedom with which Dr. Johnson con- 
demns whatever he disapproves, is astonishing; and 
the strength of words he uses would, to most people, 
be intolerable; but, Mrs. Thrale seems to have a 
sweetness of disposition that equals all her other 
excellences, and far from making a point of vin- 
dicating herself, she generally receives his admoni- 
tions with the most respectful silence. 

But I fear to say all I think at present of Mrs. 
Thrale, lest some flaws should appear by and by, 
that may make me think differently. And yet, why 
should I not indulge the now, as well as the then, 
since it will be with so much more pleasure? In 
short, I do think her delightful; she has talents to 
create admiration, good humour to excite love, under- 
standing to give entertainment, and a heart which, 
like my dear father's, seems already fitted for another 
world. My own knowledge of her, indeed, is very 
little for such a character; but all I have heard, and 
all I see, so well agree, that I won't prepare myself 
for a future disappointment. 

But to return. Mrs. Thrale then asked whether 
Mr. Langton took any better care of his affairs than 
formerly ? * 

1 " He [Langton] has the crime of prodigality and the wretched- 
ness of parsimony." {Life, 3.317.) "He is ruining himself with- 
out pleasure. ... It is a sad thing to pass through the quag- 
mire of parsimony to the gulph of ruin. To pass over the flowery 
path of extravagance is very well" (ib. 3.348). 



28 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

" No, madam, " cried the doctor, " and never will; 
he complains of the ill effects of habit, and rests 
contentedly upon a confessed indolence. He told 
his father himself that he had ' no turn to economy ' ; 
but a thief might as well plead that he had ' no turn 
to honesty.' " 

Was not that excellent? 

At night, Mrs. Thrale asked if I would have any- 
thing? I answered, " No "; but Dr. Johnson said, 

" Yes: she is used, madam, to suppers; she would 
like an egg or two, and a few slices of ham, or a 
rasher — a rasher, I believe, would please her better." 

How ridiculous ! However, nothing could per- 
suade Mrs. Thrale not to have the cloth laid: and 
Dr. Johnson was so facetious, that he challenged 
Mr. Thrale to get drunk! 

" I wish," said he, " my master * would say to 
me, Johnson, if you will oblige me, you will call 
for a bottle of Toulon, and then we will set to it, 
glass for glass, till it is done; and after that, I will 
say, Thrale, if you will oblige me, you will call for 
another bottle of Toulon, and then we will set to it, 
glass for glass, till that is done : and by the time we 
should have drunk the two bottles, we should be so 
happy, and such good friends, that we should fly 



1 Mrs. Thrale's manner of referring to her husband, caught up 
by Johnson, and later {Diary, i. 450) even used by Miss Burney. 
In general, as noted above (p. 21), he abstained from wine; but 
he was occasionally prevailed upon to take a glass of claret (the 
"drinks for boys") upon some great occasion (e.g., p. 18, above). 
His vivacity of spirits at this time, therefore, is perhaps worthy 
of comparison with his joy at the elevation of Reynolds to 
knighthood, to celebrate which he drank claret. 



1778] The Cumberlands 29 

into each other's arms, and both together call for the 
third!" 

I ate nothing, that they might not again use such 
a ceremony with me. Indeed, their late dinners for- 
bid suppers, especially as Dr. Johnson made me eat 
cake at tea, for he held it till I took it, with an odd 
or absent complaisance. 

He was extremely comical after supper, and would 
not suffer Mrs. Thrale and me to go to bed for near 
an hour after we made the motion. 1 

The Cumberland 2 family was discussed. Mrs. 
Thrale said that Mr. Cumberland was a very amiable 
man in his own house; but as a father mighty simple; 
which accounts for the ridiculous conduct and man- 
ners of his daughters, concerning whom we had much 
talk, and were all of a mind; for it seems they used 
the same rude stare to Mrs. Thrale that so much dis- 
gusted us at Mrs. Ord's: 3 she says that she really 

1 Johnson's love of late hours was notorious. "Whoever thinks 
of going to bed before twelve o'clock," he is said to have remarked, 
"is a scoundrel." ('Apophthegms,' etc., Works, n. an.) Haw- 
kins tells (Hawkins's Life, p. 286) of an all night session of 
Johnson and some of his friends: "About five, Johnson's face 
shone with meridian splendour, though his drink had been only 
lemonade; but the far greater part of us had deserted the colours 
of Bacchus, and were with difficulty rallied to partake of a sec- 
ond refreshment of coffee, which was scarcely ended when the 
day began to dawn." 

2 Richard Cumberland, the dramatist, was well acquainted with 
Johnson, though never one of his more intimate or popular friends. 
He was satirized by Foote in Piety in Pattens (1777) and as 
Sir Fretful Plagiary in Sheridan's Critic (1779). 

3 For Miss Burney's account of Mrs. Ord, see the Early Diary 
2. 138 ff. The meeting with the Cumberlands is not mentioned 
earlier by Miss Burney; but compare a later reference to them 
{Diary, 1.287), "The eldest of the girls . . . quite turned round 
her whole person every time we passed each other, to keep me in 
sight, and stare at me as long as possible." 



30 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

concluded something was wrong, and that, in getting 
out of the coach, she had given her cap some unlucky 
cuff, — by their merciless staring. 

I told her that I had not any doubt, when I had 
met with the same attention from them, but that they 
were calculating the exact cost of all my dress. Mrs. 
Thrale then told me that, about two years ago they 
were actually hissed out of the playhouse, on account 
of the extreme height of their feathers ! 

Dr. Johnson instantly composed an extempore 
dialogue between himself and Mr. Cumberland upon 
this subject, in which he was to act the part of a 
provoking condoler: 

" Mr. Cumberland (I should say), how mon- 
strously ill-bred is a playhouse mob! How I pitied 
poor Miss Cumberland's about that affair! " 

"What affair? " cries he, for he has tried to for- 
get it. 

" Why," says I, " that unlucky accident they met 
with some time ago." 

" Accident? what accident, sir? " 

" Why, you know, when they were hissed out of 
the playhouse — you remember the time — oh, the 
English mob is most insufferable ! they are boors, 
and have no manner of taste ! " 

Mrs. Thrale accompanied me to my room, and 
stayed chatting with me for more than an hour. . . . 

Now for this morning's breakfast. 

Dr. Johnson, as usual, came last into the library; 
he was in high spirits, and full of mirth and sport. 
I had the honour of sitting next to him; and now, 



1778] Johnson Has a Sleepless Night 31 

all at once, he flung aside his reserve, thinking, per- 
haps, that it was time I should fling aside mine. 

Mrs. Thrale told him that she intended taking 
me to Mr. T 's. 1 

" So you ought, madam," cried he; " 'tis your 
business to be Cicerone to her." 

Then suddenly he snatched my hand, and kissing it, 

" Ah! " he added, " they will little think what a 
tartar you carry to them ! " 

"No, that they won't!" cried Mrs. Thrale; 
11 Miss Burney looks so meek and so quiet, nobody 
would suspect what a comical girl she is; but I be- 
lieve she has a great deal of malice at heart." 

" Oh, she's a toad! " cried the doctor, laughing — 
"a sly young rogue! with her Smiths and her 
Branghtons! " 

" Why, Dr. Johnson," said Mrs. Thrale, " I hope 
you are very well this morning ! if one may judge by 
your spirits and good humour, the fever you threat- 
ened us with is gone off." 

He had complained that he was going to be ill last 
night. 

" Why no, madam, no," answered he, " I am not 
yet well; I could not sleep at all; there I lay rest- 
less and uneasy, and thinking all the time of Miss 
Burney. Perhaps I have offended her, thought I; 
perhaps she is angry; I have seen her but once, and I 
talked to her of a rasher! — Were you angry? " 

I think I need not tell you my answer. 

" I have been endeavouring to find some excuse," 

1 See above, p. 25. 



32 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

continued he, " and, as I could not sleep, I got up, 
and looked for some authority for the word; 1 and I 
find, madam, it is used by Dryden: in one of his 
prologues, he says — ' And snatch a homely rasher 
from the coals/ So you must not mind me, madam; 
I say strange things, but I mean no harm." 

I was almost afraid he thought I was really idiot 
enough to have taken him seriously; but, a few min- 
utes after, he put his hand on my arm, and shaking 
his head, exclaimed, 

" Oh, you are a sly little rogue! — what a Holborn 
beau have you drawn ! " 

" Ay, Miss Burney," said Mrs. Thrale, " the Hol- 
born beau is Dr. Johnson's favourite-, and we have 
all your characters by heart, from Mr. Smith up to 
Lady Louisa." 

" Oh, Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith is the man ! " cried 
he, laughing violently. " Harry Fielding never drew 
so good a character! — such a fine varnish of low 
politeness ! — such a struggle to appear a gentleman ! 
Madam, there is no character better drawn any- 
where — in any book or by any author." 2 

I almost poked myself under the table. Never 
did I feel so delicious a confusion since I was born ! 
But he added a great deal more, only I cannot recol- 

1 Had he consulted his own Dictionary, he would have found 
other examples of its use, notably from The Merchant of Venice 
and from Dryden's Cock and the Fox. The present quotation is 
from the prologue to All for Love, lines 33-34. One somewhat 
similar to it is also cited in the Dictionary, but is attributed to 
King. 

2 Johnson used to rebuke Mrs. Thrale for her exaggerated praise: 
" I know nobody who blasts by praise as you do." (Life, 4. 82.) 
Cf. below, pp. 54, 80, note 1. 



1778] Shall Fanny Marry Sir John Lade? 33 

lect his exact words, and I do not choose to give him 
mine. 

" Come, come," cried Mrs. Thrale, " we'll torment 
her no more about her book, for I see it really plagues 
her. I own I thought for awhile it was only affec- 
tation, for I'm sure if the book were mine I should 
wish to hear of nothing else. But we shall teach 
her in time how proud she ought to be of such a 
performance." 

" Ah, madam," cried the Doctor, " be in no haste 
to teach her that; she'll speak no more to us when 
she knows her own weight." 

" Oh, but, sir," cried she, " if Mr. Thrale has his 
way, she will become our relation, and then it will be 
hard if she won't acknowledge us." 

You may think I stared, but she went on, 

" Mr. Thrale says nothing would make him 

half so happy as giving Miss Burney to Sir J 

L Z' 1 

Mercy! what an exclamation did I give. I won- 
der you did not hear me to St. Martin's Street. 
However, she continued, 

" Mr. Thrale says, Miss Burney seems more 
formed to draw a husband to herself, by her humour 
when gay, and her good sense when serious, than al- 
most anybody he ever saw." 

"He does me much honour," cried I: though I 

1 Sir John Lade, a " rich extravagant young gentleman," nephew 
of Mr. Thrale. He was seven years younger than Miss Burney. 
In 1780 Johnson wrote some excellent satiric verses on his attain- 
ment of "long-expected one-and-twenty." {Life, 4.413.) See also 
below, p. 189, note 4. 



34 D*\ Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

cannot say I much enjoyed such a proof of his good 

opinion as giving me to Sir J L ; but Mr. 

Thrale is both his uncle and his guardian, and thinks, 
perhaps, he would do a mutual good office in securing 
me so much money, and his nephew a decent com- 
panion. Oh, if he knew how little I require with 
regard to money — how much to even bear with a 
companion ! But he was not brought up with such 
folks as my father, my Daddy Crisp, and my Susan, 
and does not know what indifference to all things, but 
good society such people as those inspire. 

" My master says a very good speech," cried the 
Doctor, " if Miss Burney's husband should have any- 
thing in common with herself; but I know not how 

we can level her with Sir J L , unless she 

would be content to put her virtues and talents in a 

scale against his thousands; and poor Sir J must 

give cheating weight even then ! However, if we 
bestow such a prize upon him he shall settle his whole 
fortune on her." 

Ah! thought I, I am more mercenary than you 
fancy me, for not even that would bribe me high 
enough. 

Before Dr. Johnson had finished his eloge, I was 
actually on the ground, for there was no standing 
it, — or sitting it, rather; and Mrs. Thrale seemed 
delighted for me. 

" I assure you," she said, " nobody can do your 
book more justice than Dr. Johnson does; and yet, 
do you remember, sir, how unwilling you were to 
read it? He took it up, just looked at the first let- 



1778] Evelina 35 

ter, and then put it away, and said, ' I don't think I 
have any taste for it ! ' — but when he was going to 
town, I put the first volume into the coach with him ; 
and then, when he came home, the very first words 
he said to me were ' Why, madam, this Evelina is a 
charming creature ! — and then he teased me to know 
who she married, and what became of her, — and I 
gave him the rest. For my part, I used to read it in 
bed, and could not part with it : I laughed at the sec- 
ond, and I cried at the third; but what a trick was that 
of Dr. Burney's, never to let me know whose it was 
till I had read it ! Suppose it had been something I 
had not liked! Oh, it was a vile trick! " 

" No, madam, not at all ! " cried the Doctor, " for, 
in that case, you would never have known; — all 
would have been safe, for he would neither have 
told you who wrote it, nor Miss Burney what you 
said of it." 

Some time after the Doctor began laughing to 
himself, and then, suddenly turning to me, he called 
out, " Only think, Polly ! Miss has danced with a 
lord!" 1 

"Ah, poor Evelina! " cried Mrs. Thrale, " I see 
her now in Kensington Gardens. What she must 
have suffered! Poor girl! what fidgets she must 
have been in ! And I know Mr. Smith, too, very 
well; — I always have him before me at the Hamp- 
stead Ball, dressed in a white coat, and a tambour 
waistcoat, worked in green silk. Poor Mr. Seward! 
Mr. Johnson made him so mad t'other day ! ' Why, 

1 The utterance of Miss Branghton in Letter 55 of Evelina. 



36 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

Seward/ said he, ' how smart you are dressed! why, 
you only want a tambour waistcoat to look like Mr. 
Smith.' But I am very fond of Lady Louisa; I 
think her as well drawn as any character in the book; 
so fine, so affected, so languishing; and, at the same 
time so insolent! " 

She then ran on with several of her speeches. 

Some time after, she gave Dr. Johnson a letter 
from Dr. Jebb, 1 concerning one of the gardeners 
who is very ill. When he had read it, he grumbled 
violently to himself, and put it away with marks of 
displeasure. 

" What's the matter, sir! " said Mrs. Thrale; " do 
you find any fault with the letter? " 

" No, madam, the letter's well enough, if the man 
knew how to write his own name; but it moves my 
indignation to see a gentleman take pains to appear a 
tradesman. Mr. Branghton would have written his 
name with just such beastly flourishes." 

" Ay, well," said Mrs. Thrale, " he is a very agree- 
able man, and an excellent physician, and a great 
favourite of mine, and so he is of Miss Burney's." 

" Why, I have no objection to the man, madam, 
if he would write his name as he ought to do." 

"Well, it does not signify," cried Mrs. Thrale; 
" but the commercial fashion of writing gains ground 
every day, for all Miss Burney abuses it, with her 
Smiths and her Branghtons. Does not the great 
Mr. Pennant 2 write like a clerk, without any pro- 

1 Sir Richard Jebb, one of Johnson's physicians. 
• 2 Thomas Pennant (1726-1798) a Welsh antiquary, author of a 
Tour in Scotland, praised by Johnson. 



1778] Life at Streatham 37 

nouns? and does not everybody flourish their names 
till nobody can read them ? " 

After this they talked over a large party of com- 
pany who are invited to a formal and grand dinner 
for next Monday, and among others Admiral Mon- 
tagu * was mentioned. The Doctor, turning to me 
with a laugh, said, 

" You must mark the old sailor, Miss Burney; 
he'll be a character." 

11 Ah! " cried Mrs. Thrale, who was going out of 
the room, " how I wish you would hatch up a comedy 
between you! do, fall to work! " 

A pretty proposal ! to be sure Dr. Johnson would 
be very proud of such a fellow-labourer! 

As soon as we were alone together, he said, 

"These are as good people as you can be with; 
you can go to no better house; they are all good 
nature; nothing makes them angry." 

As I have always heard from my father that every 
individual at Streatham spends the morning alone, I 
took the first opportunity of absconding to my room, 
and amused myself in writing till I tired. About 
noon, when I went into the library, book hunting, 
Mrs. Thrale came to me. 

We had a very nice confab about various books, 
and exchanged opinions and imitations of Baretti; 2 
she told me many excellent tales of him, and I, in 
return, related my stories. 

1 John Montagu (1719-1785), at this time vice-admiral, and com- 
mander-in-chief at Newfoundland during the American Revolution. 

2 For Joseph Baretti, the Piedmontese friend of Johnson, see 
Life, 1. 302, et passim. Accounts of him are also found in later 
passages of the Diary, 1. 186; 1.264-65. 



38 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

She gave me a long and very entertaining account 
of Dr. Goldsmith, who was intimately known here; 
but in speaking of The Goodnatured Man, when 
I extolled my favourite Croaker, I found that ad- 
mirable character was a downright theft from Dr. 
Johnson. Look at the Rambler, 1 and you will find 
Suspirius is the man, and that not merely the idea, 
but the particulars of the character, are all stolen 
thence ! 2 

While we were yet reading this Rambler, Dr. John- 
son came in : we told him what we were about. 

" Ah, madam ! " cried he, " Goldsmith was not 
scrupulous; but he would have been a great man 
had he known the real value of his own internal 



resources." 



" Miss Burney," said Mrs. Thrale, " is fond of 
his Vicar of Wakefield: and so am I; — don't you like 
it, sir?" 

" No, madam, it is very faulty; there is nothing of 
real life in it, and very little of nature. It is a mere 
fanciful performance." 3 



^o. 59. 

2 A common charge against Goldsmith, not to be taken too seri- 
ously. (Cf. Life, 1.213 and 2.48.) Taking the charge at its face 
value (which some later editors are disinclined to do), Gold- 
smith's use of another author's idea yet represented a practice com- 
mon to most great dramatists and one most improperly described as 
"theft." The development and illustration of Croaker's "humor," 
which is sufficiently indicated by his name, are all Goldsmith's. 

* Johnson, from the first, considered the Vicar a slight perform- 
ance, always, for example, ranking it below The Traveller. The 
estimate of the book here given is illustrative of a certain critical 
rashness all too common in Johnson's utterances. Goldsmith's 
own estimate of the faults and virtues of the book as given in his 
short "Advertisement" (or Preface) to the work is still the best. 



1778] Fanny Writes Scotch 39 

He then seated himself upon a sofa, and calling 
to me, said, " Come, — Evelina, — come and sit by 
me. 

I obeyed; and he took me almost in his arms, — 
that is, one of his arms, for one would go three times 
at least, round me, — and, half-laughing, half-serious, 
he charged me to " be a good girl! " 

" But, my dear," continued he with a very droll 
look, "what makes you so fond of the Scotch? I 
don't like you for that; I hate these Scotch, and so 
must you. I wish Branghton had sent the dog to 
jail! That Scotch dog Macartney." 1 

" Why, sir," said Mrs. Thrale, " don't you remem- 
ber he says he would, but that he should get nothing 
by it?" 

" Why, ay, true," cried the doctor, see-sawing very 
solemnly, " that, indeed, is some palliation for his 
forbearance. But I must not have you so fond of the 
Scotch, my little Burney; make your hero what you 
will but a Scotchman. Besides, you write Scotch — 
you say ' the one,' 2 — my dear, that's not English. 
Never use that phrase again." 

" Perhaps," said Mrs. Thrale, " it may be used in 
Macartney's letter, and then it will be a propriety." 

" No, madam, no ! " cried he; " you can't make a 
beauty of it; it is in the third volume; put it in 
Macartney's letter, and welcome ! — that, or anything 
that is nonsense." 

" Why, surely," I cried, " the poor man is used ill 
enough by the Branghtons." 

1 See Evelina, Letter 42. 

2 In phrases like " on the one side of the street." 



40 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

" But Branghton," said he, " only hates him be- 
cause of his wretchedness, — poor fellow! — But, my 
dear love, how should he ever have eaten a good 
dinner before he came to England?" 

And then he laughed violently at young Brangh- 
ton's idea. 

"Well," said Mrs. Thrale, "I always liked 
Macartney; he is a very pretty character, and I took 
to him, as the folks say." 

" Why, madam," answered he. " I like Macart- 
ney myself. Yes, poor fellow, I liked the man, but 
I love not the nation." 

And then he proceeded, in a dry manner, to make 
at once sarcastic reflections on the Scotch and flat- 
tering speeches to me, for Macartney's firing at the 
national insults of young Branghton: his stubborn 
resolution in not owning, even to his bosom friend, 
his wretchedness of poverty; and his fighting at last 
for the honour of his nation, when he resisted all 
other provocations; he said, were all extremely well 
marked. 

We stayed with him till just dinner time, and 
then we were obliged to run away and dress ; but Dr. 
Johnson called out to me as I went — 

" Miss Burney, I must settle that affair of the 
Scotch with you at our leisure." 

At dinner we had the company, or rather the pres- 
ence, for he did not speak two words, of Mr. E ,* 

the clergyman, I believe, of Streatham. And after- 

1 Perhaps the Rev. Mr. Evans, mentioned later (Diary, 1.318), 
the " dear little Evans " of Johnson's Letters. 



I 77^] Johnson and Ladies' Dress 41 

wards, Mrs. Thrale took the trouble to go with me 
to the T 's. 

Dr. Johnson, who has a love of social converse 
that nobody, without living under the same roof with 
him, would suspect, quite begged us not to go till 
he went to town; but as we were hatted and ready, 
Mrs. Thrale only told him she rejoiced to find him 
so jealous of our companies, and then away we 
whisked, — she, Miss Thrale, and my ladyship. 

I could write some tolerable good sport concern- 
ing this visit, but that I wish to devote all the time 
I can snatch for writing, to recording what passes 
here ; themes of mere ridicule offer everywhere. 

We got home late, and had the company of Mr. 

E , and of Mr. Rose Fuller, 1 a young man who 

lives at Streatham, and is nephew of the famous 
Rose Fuller; and whether Dr. Johnson did not like 
them, or whether he was displeased that we went 
out, or whether he was not well, I know not ; but he 
never opened his mouth, except in answer to a ques- 
tion, till he bid us good-night. 

Saturday Morning. — Dr. Johnson was again all 
himself; and so civil to me! — even admiring how I 
dressed myself. Indeed, it is well I have so much of 
his favour; for it seems he always speaks his mind 
concerning the dress of ladies, and all ladies who 
are here obey his injunctions implicitly, and alter 
whatever he disapproves. This is a part of his char- 
acter that much surprises me; but notwithstanding 

1 Sufficient account of him is given here and below, pp. 51, 81. 



42 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

he is sometimes so absent, and always so near sighted, 
he scrutinises into every part of almost everybody's 
appearance. They tell me of a Miss Brown, 1 who 
often visits here, and who has a slovenly way of 
dressing. " And when she comes down in the morn- 
ing," says Mrs. Thrale, " her hair will be all loose, 
and her cap half off; and then Dr. Johnson, who 
sees something is wrong, and does not know where 
the fault is, concludes it is in the cap, and says, ' My 
dear, what do you wear such a vile cap for? ' ' I'll 
change it, sir,' cries the poor girl, ' if you don't like 
it.' * Ay, do,' he says; and away runs poor Miss 
Brown; but when she gets on another, it's the same 
thing, for the cap has nothing to do with the fault. 
And then she wonders Dr. Johnson should not like 
the cap, for she thinks it very pretty. And so on with 
her gown, which he also makes her change; but if the 
poor girl were to change through all her wardrobe, 
unless she could put her things on better, he would 
still find fault." 

When Dr. Johnson was gone, she told me of my 
mother's 2 being obliged to change her dress. 

" Now," said she, " Mrs. Burney had on a very 
pretty linen jacket and coat, and was going to church, 
but Dr. Johnson, who, I suppose, did not like her 
in a jacket, saw something was the matter, and so 
found fault with the linen; and he looked and peered, 

1 " A gay, careless, lively good-humoured girl. . . . She con- 
fessed to me that both she and Miss S. S. [Sophie Streatfield] were 
in fevers in his [Johnson's] presence, from apprehension." (Diary, 
1. 103, 209.) 

2 Her stepmother. 






1778] Mrs. Burney's Dress 43 

and said, * Why, madam, this won't do ! you must not 
go to church so ! ' So away went poor Mrs. Burney 
and changed her gown ! And when she had done so, 
he did not like it, but he did not know why; so he 
told her she should not wear a black hat and cloak 
in summer. Oh, how he did bother poor Mrs. Bur- 
ney ! and himself too, for if the things had been put 
on to his mind, he would have taken no notice of 
them." 

" Why," said Mr. Thrale, very drily, " I don't 
think Mrs. Burney a very good dresser." 

" Last time she came," said Mrs. Thrale, " she 
was in a white cloak, and she told Dr. Johnson she 
had got her old white cloak scoured on purpose to 
oblige him ! * Scoured ! ' said he, ' ay, — have you, 
madam ? ' — so he see-sawed, for he could not for 
shame find fault, but he did not seem to like the 
scouring." 

So I think myself amazingly fortunate to be ap- 
proved by him; for, if he disliked, alack-a-day, how 
could I change ! But he has paid me some very fine 
compliments upon this subject. 

I was very sorry when the doctor went to town, 
though Mrs. Thrale made him promise to return to 
Monday's dinner; and he has very affectionately 
invited me to visit him in the winter, when he is at 
home: and he talked to me a great deal of Mrs. 
Williams, and gave me a list of her works, and said 
I must visit them; — which I am sure I shall be very 
proud of doing. 

And now let me try to recollect an account he 



44 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

gave us of certain celebrated ladies of his acquaint- 
ance : an account which, had you heard from himself, 
would have made you die with laughing, his manner 
is so peculiar, and enforces his humour so originally. 

It was begun by Mrs. Thrale's apologising to 
him for troubling him with some question she thought 
trifling — Oh, I remember! We had been talking 
of colours, and of the fantastic names given to them, 
and why the palest lilac should be called a soupir 
etouffe; and when Dr. Johnson came in she applied 
to him. 

" Why, madam," said he with wonderful readiness, 
" it is called a stifled sigh because it is checked in its 
progress, and only half a colour." 

I could not help expressing my amazement at his 
universal readiness upon all subjects, and Mrs. Thrale 
said to him, 

" Sir, Miss Burney wonders at your patience with 
such stuff; but I tell her you are used to me, for I 
believe I torment you with more foolish questions 
than anybody else dares to." 

" No, madam," said he, "you don't torment me; 
— you tease me, indeed, sometimes." 

" Ay, so I do, Dr. Johnson, and I wonder you bear 
with my nonsense." 

u No, madam, you never talk nonsense; you have 
as much sense, and more wit, than any woman I 
know!" 

" Oh," cried Mrs. Thrale, blushing, " it is my turn 
to go under the table this morning, Miss Burney! " 

" And yet," continued the doctor, with the most 



1778] Bet Flint, the Wit 45 

comical look, " I have known all the wits, from Mrs. 
Montagu down to Bet Flint! " x 

"Bet Flint! " cried Mrs. Thrale; " pray, who is 
she?" 

" Oh, a fine character, madam ! She was habitu- 
ally a slut and a drunkard, and occasionally a thief 
and a harlot." 

" And, for Heaven's sake, how came you to know 
her?" 

" Why, madam, she figured in the literary world, 
too ! Bet Flint wrote her own life, and called herself 
Cassandra, and it was in verse; — it began: 

" ' When Nature first ordained my birth, 
A diminutive I was born on earth: 
And then I came from a dark abode 
Into a gay and gaudy world.' 

" So Bet brought me her verses to correct; but I 
gave her half a crown, and she liked it as well. Bet 
had a fine spirit; — she advertised for a husband, but 
she had no success, for she told me no man aspired to 
her! Then she hired very handsome lodgings and 
a footboy; and she got a harpsichord, but Bet could 
not play; however she put herself in fine attitudes, 
and drummed." 

Then he gave an account of another of these 
geniuses, who called herself by some fine name, I 
have forgotten what. 

x BosweIl (Life, 4.103) gives a shorter version of the same story. 
Miss Burney apparently (ib., note 2) repeated the verses to him, 
though he does not quote them exactly as they are here ; it is 
of course likely that Miss Burney (or her first editor) slightly 
modified the stanza. 



46 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

" She had not quite the same stock of virtue," 
continued he, " nor the same stock of honesty as Bet 
Flint; but I suppose she envied her accomplishments, 
for she was so little moved by the power of harmony, 
that while Bet thought she was drumming divinely, 
the other jade had her indicted for a nuisance! " 

"And pray what became of her, sir?" 

" Why, madam, she stole a quilt from the man 
of the house, and he had her taken up, but Bet Flint 
had a spirit not to be subdued; so when she found 
herself obliged to go to jail, she ordered a sedan-chair 
and bid her footboy walk before her. However, the 
boy proved refractory, for he was ashamed, though 
his mistress was not." 

" And did she ever get out of jail again, sir? " 

" Yes, madam, when she came to her trial the judge 
acquitted her. 1 ' So now/ she said to me, * the quilt 
is my own, and now I'll make a petticoat of it.' Oh, 
I loved Bet Flint!" 

Oh, how we all laughed! Then he gave an ac- 
count of another lady, who called herself Laurinda, 
and who wrote verses and stole furniture; but he 
had not the same affection for her, he said, though 
she too " was a lady who had high notions of 
honour." 

Then followed the history of another, who called 
herself Hortensia, and who walked up and down the 
park repeating a book of Virgil. 

" But," said he, " though I know her story, I never 
had the good fortune to see her." 

1 The reason for the acquittal is given by Hill. {Life, 4. 103, 
note.) 



1778] Johnson and the Demi-Monde 47 

After this he gave us an account of the famous 
Mrs. Pinkethman. 1 " And she," he said, " told me 
she owed all her misfortunes to her wit ; for she was 
so unhappy as to marry a man who thought himself 
also a wit, though I believe she gave him not implicit 
credit for it, but it occasioned much contradiction 
and ill-will." 

"Bless me, sir!" cried Mrs. Thrale, "how can 
all these vagabonds contrive to get at you, of all 
people? " 2 

" Oh, the dear creatures ! " cried he, laughing 
heartily, " I can't but be glad to see them ! " 

" Why, I wonder, sir, you never went to see Mrs. 
Rudd 8 among the rest? " 

" Why, madam, I believe I should," said he, " if it 
was not for the newspapers ; but I am prevented many 
frolics that I should like very well, since I am be- 
come such a theme for the papers." 

Now would you ever have imagined this? Bet 
Flint, it seems, once took Kitty Fisher 4 to see him, 



a The "fame" of this lady, like that of Hortensia and Laurinda, 
has unfortunately passed away. Dobson is inclined to identify 
Mrs. Pinketham with Mrs. Pilkington (i 700-1 750). 

2 Doubtless he had met them during his wanderings about Lon- 
don in the decade of the 4o's. 

3 Mrs. Margaret Caroline Rudd was tried for forgery in 1775, and 
acquitted. Boswell, whose interest in criminals amounted almost to 
a passion, became intimately acquainted with her. See Fitz- 
gerald's Bosivell's Life, and the Life of Johnson, 3. 79 ff., 330, 
where Johnson gives a reason similar to the one that follows 
here for not becoming acquainted with her, and adds, " I envy 
[Boswell] his acquaintance with Mrs. Rudd." (Cf. below, p. 195.) 

4 A famous beauty of the time, of no very savory reputation. 
She is the subject of at least six portraits by Sir Joshua. "She 
was known as a daring horsewoman, and also credited with the 
possession of beauty and wit." (D.N.B.) She died in 1767. 



48 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

but to his no little regret he was not at home. " And 
Mrs. Williams," he added, " did not love Bet Flint, 
but Bet Flint made herself very easy about that." 

How Mr. Crisp would have enjoyed this account! 
He gave it all with so droll a solemnity, and it was 
all so unexpected, that Mrs. Thrale and I were both 
almost equally diverted. 

Streatham, August 26. — My opportunities for 
writing grow less and less, and my materials more 
and more. After breakfast, I have scarcely a mo- 
ment that I can spare all day. 

Mrs. Thrale I like more and more. Of all the 
people I have ever seen since I came into the " gay 
and gaudy world," I never before saw the person 
who so strongly resembles our dear father. I find 
the likeness perpetually; she has the same natural 
liveliness, the same general benevolence, the 
same rare union of gaiety and of feeling in her 
disposition. 

And so kind is she to me ! She told me at first that 
I should have all my mornings to myself, and there- 
fore I have actually studied to avoid her, lest I should 
be in her way; but since the first morning she seeks 
me, sits with me, saunters with me in the park, or 
compares notes over books in the library; and her 
conversation is delightful; it is so entertaining, so 
gay, so enlivening, when she is in spirits, and so in- 
telligent and instructive when she is otherwise, that 
I almost as much wish to record all she says as all 
Dr. Johnson says. 



1778] Mrs. Lennox 49 

Proceed — no ! Go back, my muse, to Thursday. 

Dr. Johnson came home to dinner. 
In the evening he was as lively and full of wit and 
sport as I have ever seen him; and Mrs. Thrale and 
I had him quite to ourselves ; for Mr. Thrale came 
in from giving an election dinner 1 (to which he sent 
two bucks and six pine apples) so tired, that he 
neither opened his eyes nor mouth, but fell fast asleep. 
Indeed, after tea he generally does. 

Dr. Johnson was very communicative concerning 
his present work of the Lives of the Poets; 2 Dryden 
is now- in the press, and he told us he had been just 
writing a dissertation upon Hudibras. 

He gave us an account of Mrs. Lennox. 3 Her 
Female Quixote is very justly admired here. But 
Mrs. Thrale says that though her books are gen- 
erally approved, nobody likes her. I find she, among 
others, waited on Dr. Johnson upon her commencing 
writer, and he told us that, at her request, he car- 
ried her to Richardson. 

" Poor Charlotte Lennox! " continued he; "when 
we came to the house, she desired me to leave her, 
1 for/ says she ' I am under great restraint in your 
presence, but if you leave me alone with Richardson 
I'll give you a very good account of him ' ; however, 



1 He was at this time Member of Parliament for Streatham, 
in which capacity he was in the habit of giving treats to his 
constituents. 

2 The work had been contracted for May 29, 1777 ; the volumes 
here mentioned as in press appeared in March of the following 
year. 

8 1720-1804. Johnson issued Proposals for publishing her works 
in 1775. 



50 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

I fear poor Charlotte was disappointed, for she gave 
me no account at all ! " 

He then told us of two little productions of our 
Mr. Harris, 1 which we read; they are very short and 
very clever: one is called Fashion, the other Much 
Ado } and they are both of them full of a sportive 
humour, that I had not suspected to belong to Mr. 
Harris, the learned grammarian. 

Some time after, turning suddenly to me, he said, 
" Miss Burney, what sort of reading do you delight 
in? History? — travels? — poetry? — or romances ?" 

" Oh, sir! " cried I, " I dread being catechised by 
you. I dare not make any answer, for I fear what- 
ever I should say would be wrong! " 

" Whatever you should say — how's that? " 

" Why, not whatever I should — but whatever I 
could say." 

He laughed, and to my great relief spared me any 
further questions upon the subject. Indeed, I was 
very happy I had the presence of mind to evade him 
as I did, for I am sure the examination which would 
have followed, had I made any direct answer, would 
have turned out sorely to my discredit. 

" Do you remember, sir," said Mrs. Thrale, " how 
you tormented poor Miss Brown 2 about reading? " 

1 James Harris (1709-1780), grammarian, called by Johnson a 
"prig and a bad prig." (Life, 3.245; cf. note.) In the year in 
which Miss Burney is writing he published Philological Inquiries. 
He was also interested in music, and wrote words for Italian 
and German airs. Probably the two compositions mentioned in 
the text belong to this class. He was popular with Miss Burney, 
and figures prominently in the Early Diary (1.207; 2 « 57> e * 
passim). 

2 See above, p. 42. 



1778] The Etymology of Palmyra 51 

" She might soon be tormented, madam, " an- 
swered he, " for I am not yet quite clear she knows 
what a book is." 

11 Oh, for shame! " cried Mrs. Thrale, " she reads 
not only English, but French and Italian. She was in 
Italy a great while." 

" Pho ! " exclaimed he; " Italian, indeed! Do you 
think she knows as much Italian as Rose Fuller does 
English?" 

" Well, well," said Mrs. Thrale, " Rose Fuller is 
a very good young man, for all he has not much com- 
mand of language, and though he is silly enough, yet 
I like him very well, for there is no manner of 
harm in him." 

Then she told me that he once said, " Dr. John- 
son's conversation is so instructive that I'll ask him a 
question. * Pray, sir, what is Palmyra ? I have heard 
of it often, but never knew what it was.' ' Palmyra, 
sir?' said the doctor; ' why, it is a hill in Ireland, 
situated in a bog, and has palm-trees at the top, 
when it is called palm-mire." * 

Whether or not he swallowed this account, I know 
not yet. 

" But Miss Brown," continued she, " is by no 
means such a simpleton as Dr. Johnson supposes her 

1 " Mrs. Thrale (then Mrs. Piozzi), in relating this story after 
Johnson's death, in her Anecdotes of him, adds — ' Seeing, however, 
that the lad' (whom she does not name, but calls a 'young fel- 
low'), 'thought him serious, and thanked him for his informa- 
tion, he undeceived him very gently indeed; told him the history, 
geography, and chronology of Tadmor in the Wilderness, with 
every incident that literature could furnish, I think, or eloquence 
express, from the building of Solomon's palace to the voyage of 
Dawkins and Wood." (Barrett.) 



52 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

to be; she is not very deep, indeed, but she is a sweet, 
and a very ingenuous girl, and nobody admired Miss 
Streatfield more. But she made a more foolish 
speech to Dr. Johnson than she would have done to 
anybody else, because she was so frightened and em- 
barrassed that she knew not what she said. He asked 
her some questions about reading, and she did, to be 
sure, make a very silly answer; but she was so per- 
plexed and bewildered, that she hardly knew where 
she was, and so she said the beginning of a book was 
as good as the end, or the end as good as the begin- 
ning, or some such stuff; and Dr. Johnson told her 
of it so often, saying, ' Well, my dear, which part 
of a book do you like best now? ' that poor Fanny 
Brown burst into tears ! " 

" I am sure I should have compassion for her,' , 
cried I; " for nobody would be more likely to have 
blundered out such, or any such speech, from fright 
and terror." 

"You?" cried Dr. Johnson. "No; you are an- 
other thing; she who could draw Smiths and Brangh- 
tons, is quite another thing." 

Mrs. Thrale then told some other stories of his 
degrading opinion of us poor fair sex; I mean in 
general, for in particular he does them noble justice. 
Among others, was a Mrs. Somebody who spent a 
day here once, and of whom he asked, " Can she 
read?" 

"Yes, to be sure," answered Mrs. Thrale; "we 
have been reading together this afternoon." 

"And what book did you get for her?" 



1778] Fanny Must Write a Comedy 53 

" Why, what happened to lie in the way, Hogarth's 
Analysis of Beauty." 1 

" Hogarth's Analysis of Beauty! What made you 
choose that? " 

" Why, sir, what would you have had me take? " 

" What she could have understood — Cow-hide, or 
Cinderella! " 

" Oh, Dr. Johnson! " cried I; " 'tis not for noth- 
ing you are feared! " 

" Oh, you rogue! " cried he, laughing, " and they 
would fear you if they knew you ! " 

" That they would," said Mrs. Thrale; " but she's 

so shy they don't suspect her. Miss P gave her 

an account of all her dress, to entertain her, t'other 
night ! To be sure she was very lucky to fix on Miss 
Burney for such conversation ! But I have been tell- 
ing her she must write a comedy; 2 I am sure nobody 
could do it better. Is it not true, Dr. Johnson? " 

I would fain have stopt her, but she was not to be 
stopped, and ran on saying such fine things ! though we 
had almost a struggle together; and she said at last: 

II Well, authors may say what they will of modesty ; 
but I believe Miss Burney is really modest about her 
book, 3 for her colour comes and goes every time it 
is mentioned." 

1 An ill-considered work, published in 1753, which was far from 
treating its subject with any success and which only yielded its 
opinionated author severe, though merited, censure. 

2 Cf. above, p. 37, and below, pp. 61-62; 106 ff. Unfortunately 
Miss Burney took this advice. Her comedy, The Witlings, which 
she composed soon after this, was suppressed, largely as a re- 
sult of Mr. Crisp's advice. (See Dobson's Fanny Burney, 101-105.) 

3 Probably the weary reader is no longer able to agree with Mrs. 
Thrale. 



54 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

I then escaped to look for a book which we had 
been talking of, and Dr. Johnson, when I returned 
to my seat, said he wished Richardson had been 
alive. 

" And then," he added, " she should have been 
introduced to him — though I don't know neither — 
Richardson would have been afraid of her." * 

" Oh yes ! that's a likely matter," quoth I. 

" It's very true," continued he; " Richardson would 
have been really afraid of her; there is merit in 
Evelina which he could not have borne. No ; it would 
not have done ! unless, indeed, she would have flat- 
tered him prodigiously. Harry Fielding, too, would 
have been afraid of her; there is nothing so deli- 
cately finished in all Harry Fielding's works, 
as in Evelina! " 2 Then shaking his head at 
me, he exclaimed, " Oh, you little character- 
monger, you ! " 

Mrs. Thrale then returned to her charge, and 
again urged me about a comedy; and again I tried to 
silence her, and we had a fine fight together; till she 
called upon Dr. Johnson to back her. 

" Why, madam," said he, laughing, " she is writ- 
ing one. What a rout is here, indeed ! she is writing 
one upstairs all the time. Who ever knew when she 
began Evelina? She is working at some drama, de- 
pend upon it." 

1 Richardson's jealousy of his rivals was notorious. 

2 Cf. above, p. 32. Later (Diary, 1.95), he is reported to have 
said of it, " there were things and characters in it more than 
worthy of Fielding," and when objection was made to this 
statement, added, " Harry Fielding knew nothing but the shell of 
life." Time has hardly corroborated these dicta. 






I 77^] Johnson Reads from Irene 55 

"True, true, O king! " thought I. 

"Well, that will be a sly trick!" cried Mrs. 
Thrale; "however, you know best, I believe, about 
that, as well as about every other thing." 

Friday was a very full day. In the morning we 
began talking of Irene, and Mrs. Thrale made Dr, 
Johnson read some passages which I had been re- 
marking as uncommonly applicable, and told us he 
had not ever read so much of it before since it was 
first printed. 1 

" Why, there is no making you read a play," said 
Mrs. Thrale, " either of your own, or any other per- 
son. What trouble had I to make you hear Murphy's 
Know your own Mind! 2 * Read rapidly, read 
rapidly,' you cried, and then took out your watch 
to see how long I was about it ! 3 Well, we won't 
serve Miss Burney so, sir ; when we have her comedy 
we will do it all justice." . . . 

The day was passed most agreeably. In the even- 
ing we had, as usual, a literary conversation. I say 
we, only because Mrs. Thrale will make me take 

1 At another time when one was reading his tragedy of Irene 
to a company at a house in the country, he left the room, and 
somebody having asked him the reason of this, he replied, ' Sir, 
I thought it had been better.'" (Life, 4.5.) 

2 A comedy which appeared in the year in which Miss Burney is 
writing. Arthur Murphy was one of Johnson's friends and bi- 
ographers; his Essay on the Life and Genius of Samuel Johnson 
appeared in 1792, a year later than Boswell's Life. There is an 
account of him in the Memoirs, 2. 174. 

3 Murphy himself says (Essay, Hill's ed., p. 363) that it is 
doubtful whether Johnson ever read any book save the Bible 
entirely through, and that he was disinclined to believe that 
others read books through. (Cf. Life, 2.226.) 



56 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

some share, by perpetually applying to me; and, in- 
deed, there can be no better house for rubbing up the 
memory, as I hardly ever read, saw, or heard of any 
book that by some means or other has not been men- 
tioned here. 

Mr. Lort x produced several curious MSS. of the 
famous Bristol Chatterton; 2 among others, his will, 
and divers verses written against Dr. Johnson 3 as a 
placeman and pensioner; all which he read aloud, 
with a steady voice and unmoved countenance. 

I was astonished at him; Mrs. Thrale not much 
pleased; Mr. Thrale silent and attentive; and Mr. 
Seward was slily laughing. Dr. Johnson himself, 
listened profoundly and laughed openly. Indeed, I 
believe he wishes his abusers no other than a good 
dinner, like Pope. 

Just as we had got our biscuits and toast-and-water, 
which make the Streatham supper, and which, in- 
deed, is all there is any chance of eating after our 
late and great dinners, Mr. Lort suddenly said, 

" Pray, ma'am, have you heard anything of a novel 
that runs about a good deal, called Evelina?" 

What a ferment did this question, before such a 
set, put me in! 

1 He is described by Miss Burney {Diary, i. 91), as "one of the 
most learned men alive, and ... a collector of curiosities in litera- 
ture and natural history." His manners, she adds, were somewhat 
blunt and odd. 

2 Although Chatterton had died in 1770, there was still some con- 
troversy regarding the genuineness of the Rowley MSS. (Cf. 
Diary, 1.356.) For Johnson's interest in the marvellous boy, see 
Life, 3. 51-52. 

* " Rigid Johnson " is mentioned in Fables for the Court, lines 
28 ff., and several times in Ke*iv Gardens, lines 280 ff., 360 ff, 463 ff., 
etc. 



1778] Mr. Lort Attacks Evelina 57 

I did not know whether he spoke to me, or Mrs. 
Thrale; and Mrs. Thrale was in the same doubt, 
and as she owned, felt herself in a little palpitation 
for me, not knowing what might come next. Be- 
tween us both, therefore, he had no answer, 

* It has been recommended to me," continued he; 
" but I have no great desire to see it, because it has 
such a foolish name. Yet I have heard a great deal 
of it, too." 

He then repeated Evelina — in a very languishing 
and ridiculous tone. 

My heart beat so quick against my stays that I 
almost panted with extreme agitation, from the dread 
either of hearing some horrible criticism, or of being 
betrayed; and I munched my biscuit as if I had not 
eaten for a fortnight. 

I believe the whole party were in some little con- 
sternation; Dr. Johnson began see-sawing; Mr. 

Thrale awoke ; Mr. E * who I fear has picked 

up some notion of the affair from being so much in 
the house, grinned amazingly; and Mr. Seward, bit- 
ing his nails and flinging himself back in his chair, I 
am sure had wickedness enough to enjoy the whole 
scene. 

Mrs. Thrale was really a little fluttered, but with- 
out looking at me, said, 

" And pray what, Mr. Lort, what have you heard 
of it?" 

Now, had Mrs. Thrale not been flurried, this was 
the last question she should have ventured to ask 

1 See above, p. 40, note. 



58 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

before me. Only suppose what I must feel when I 
heard it. 

" Why, they say," answered he, " that it's an ac- 
count of a young lady's first entrance into company, 
and of the scrapes she gets into ; and they say there's 
a great deal of character in it, but I have not cared 
to look in it, because the name is so foolish — 
Evelina! " 

" Why foolish, sir?" cried Dr. Johnson. 
"Where's the folly of it?" 

" Why, I won't say much for the name myself," 
said Mrs. Thrale, " to those who don't know the 
reason of it, which I found out, but which nobody 
else seems to know." 

She then explained the name from Evelyn, accord- 
ing to my own meaning. 

" Well," said Dr. Johnson, " if that was the rea- 
son, it is a very good one." 

" Why, have you had the book here? " cried Mr. 
Lort, staring. 

"Ay, indeed, have we," said Mrs. Thrale; "I 
read it when I was last confined, and I laughed over 
it, and I cried over it! " 

11 Oh, ho! " said Mr. Lort, " this is another thing! 
If you have had it here, I will certainly read it." 

" Had it? ay," returned she; " and Dr. Johnson, 
who would not look at it at first, was so caught by 
it when I put it in the coach with him that he has 
sung its praises ever since, — and he says Richardson 
would have been proud to have written it." 

" Oh, ho ! this is a good hearing! " cried Mr. Lort; 



1 778] Johnson Keeps Fanny Prisoner 59 

" if Dr. Johnson can read it, I shall get it with all 
speed." 

" You need not go far for it," said Mrs. Thrale, 
" for it's now upon yonder table." 

I could sit still no longer; there was something so 
awkward, so uncommon, so strange in my then situa- 
tion, that I wished myself a hundred miles off; and, 
indeed, I had almost choked myself with the biscuit, 
for I could not for my life swallow it; and so I got 
up, and, as Mr. Lort went to the table to look at 
Evelina, I left the room, and was forced to call for 
water to wash down the biscuit, which literally stuck 
in my throat. . . . 

Dr. Johnson was later than usual this morning, 
and did not come down till our breakfast was over, 
and Mrs. Thrale had risen to give some orders, I 
believe : I, too, rose, and took a book at another end 
of the room. Some time after, before he had yet 
appeared, Mr. Thrale called out to me, 

" So, Miss Burney, you have a mind to feel your 
legs before the doctor comes?" 

"Why so?" cried Mr. Lort. 

II Why, because when he comes she will be con- 
fined." 

"Ay?— how is that?" 

11 Why, he never lets her leave him, but keeps her 
prisoner till he goes to his own room." 

" Oh, ho! " cried Mr. Lort, " she is in great fa- 
vour with him." 

" Yes," said Mr. Seward, " and I think he shows 
his taste." 



60 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

" I did not know," said Mr. Lort, " but he might 
keep her to help him in his Lives of the Poets, if 
she's so clever." 

" And yet," said Mrs. Thrale, " Miss Burney 
never flatters him, though she is such a favourite with 
him; — but the tables are turned, for he sits and flat- 
ters her all day long." 

" I don't flatter him," said I, " because nothing I 
could say would flatter him." 

Mrs. Thrale then told a story of Hannah More, 
which I think exceeds, in its severity, all the severe 
things I have yet heard of Dr. Johnson's saying. 

When she was introduced to him, not long ago, 
she began singing his praise in the warmest manner, 
and talking of the pleasure and the instruction she 
had received from his writings, with the highest en- 
comiums. For some time he heard her with that 
quietness which a long use of praise has given him: 
she then redoubled her strokes, and, as Mr. Seward 1 
calls it, peppered still more highly: till, at length, 
he turned suddenly to her, with a stern and angry 
countenance, and said, " Madam, before you flatter a 
man so grossly to his face, you should consider 
whether or not your flattery is worth his having." 2 

Mr. Seward then told another instance of his de- 
termination not to mince the matter, when he thought 
reproof at all deserved. During a visit of Miss 

father Goldsmith; see the description of Garrick in Retaliation. 

2 Cf . the more accurate account given in the Life (4.341), in 
which Johnson appears to less disadvantage. For the whole matter 
of Miss More's flattery of Johnson and of Johnson's flattery of Miss 
More, see both the Life and the Miscellanies, passim. 



1778] Fanny Brown's Knowledge of Books 61 

Brown's to Streatham, he was inquiring of her sev- 
eral things that she could not answer; and as he held 
her so cheap in regard to books, 1 he began to question 
her concerning domestic affairs — puddings, pies, plain 
work, and so forth. Miss Brown, not at all more able 
to give a good account of herself in these articles 
than in the others, began all her answers with, " Why, 
sir, one need not be obliged to do so, — or so," what- 
ever was the thing in question. When he had finished 
his interrogatories, and she had finished her " need 
nots " he ended the discourse with saying, "As to 
your needs, my dear, they are so very many, that you 
would be frightened yourself if you knew half of 
them." 

After breakfast on Friday, 2 or yesterday, a curious 
trait occurred of Dr. Johnson's jocosity. It was while 
the talk ran so copiously upon their urgency that I 
should produce a comedy. While Mrs. Thrale was 
in the midst of her flattering persuasions, the doc- 
tor, see-sawing in his chair, began laughing to him- 
self so heartily as to almost shake his seat as well as 
his sides. We stopped our confabulation, in which 
he had ceased to join, hoping he would reveal the 
subject of his mirth; but he enjoyed it inwardly, 
without heeding our curiosity, — till at last he said he 
had been struck with a notion that " Miss Burney 
would begin her dramatic career by writing a piece 
called Streatham" 



1 See above, pp. 50-51. 

2 This entry has no other date than 1778; it immediately follows 
the preceding. 



62 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

He paused, and laughed yet more cordially, and 
then suddenly commanded a pomposity to his counte- 
nance and his voice, and added, " Yes ! Streatham — 
a Farce. )f 

How little did I expect from this Lexiphanes, 1 
this great and dreaded lord of English literature, a 
turn for burlesque humour ! 

Streatham, September. — Our journey hither 
proved, as it promised, most sociably cheerful, and 
Mrs. Thrale opened still further upon the subject 
she began in St. Martin's Street, of Dr. Johnson's 
kindness towards me. To be sure she saw it was 
not totally disagreeable to me; though I was really 
astounded when she hinted at my becoming a rival 
to Miss Streatfield 2 in the doctor's good graces. 

" I had a long letter," she said, " from Sophy 
Streatfield t'other day, and she sent Dr. Johnson her 
elegant edition of the Classics; but when he had 
read the letter he said, ' She is a sweet creature, and 
I love her much ; but my little Burney writes a better 
letter.' Now," continued she, " that is just what I 
wished him to say of you both." 

Before dinner, to my great joy, Dr. Johnson 
returned home from Warley Common. 3 I followed 

1 See above, p. i, note 3. 

7 A young and beautiful Bluestocking, " half adored by Mr. and 
Mrs. Thrale." (Diary, 1. 19.) Her learning, however, is not to be 
taken too seriously, for Johnson once said of her that, " taking away 
her Greek, she was as ignorant as a butterfly." (Diary, 1.231.) 

* A full account of Johnson's visit to Warley Camp, where his 
friend, Bennet Langton, Captain in the Lincolnshire militia, was 
stationed, may be found in the Life, 3. 361 ff. 



s^^^-f^ 



4 



*> r ~^~ ^7 x- . ,S> > t/ 



A' 



*£^ a*urf0&t- ^-5 



/* 



CfTt*"*^ 






S& 



Letter of Miss Burney's to Mrs. Thrale 



J 77^] Johnson's Family 63 

Mrs. Thrale into the library to see him, and he is so 
near-sighted that he took me for Miss Streatfield : x 
but he did not welcome me less kindly when he found 
his mistake, which Mrs. Thrale made known by 
saying, " No, 'tis Miss Streatfield's rival, Miss 
Burney." 

At tea-time the subject turned upon the domestic 
economy of Dr. Johnson's own household. Mrs. 
Thrale has often acquainted me that his house is quite 
filled and overrun with all sorts of strange creatures, 
whom he admits for mere charity, and because nobody 
else will admit them — for his charity is unbounded — 
or, rather, bounded only by his circumstances. 

The account he gave of the adventures and ab- 
surdities of the set was highly diverting, but too dif- 
fused for writing, though one or two speeches I 
must give. I think I shall occasionally theatricalise 
my dialogues. 

Mrs. Thrale. — Pray, sir, how does Mrs. Williams 
like all this tribe? 

Dr. Johnson. — Madam, she does not like them at 
all; but their fondness for her is not greater. She 
and De Mullin 2 quarrel incessantly ; but as they 
can both be occasionally of service to each other, 
and as neither of them have any other place to 
go to, their animosity does not force them to 
separate. 

1 Similar instances are recorded above, p. 3, and below, p. 241. 

2 The name is more properly spelled Desmoulins. Beside their 
lodging, Johnson gave her and her daughter a half guinea a 
week. For account of the various inmates of Johnson's house, see 
Life, 3, Appendix D. 



64 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

Mrs. T. — And pray, sir, what is Mr. Macbean? 1 

Dr. J. — Madam, he is a Scotchman; he is a man of 
great learning, and for his learning I respect him, and 
I wish to serve him. He knows many languages, and 
knows them well; but he knows nothing of life. I 
advised him to write a geographical dictionary; but 
I have lost all hopes of his ever doing anything prop- 
erly, since I found he gave as much labour to Capua 
as to Rome. 

Mr. T. — And pray who is clerk of your kitchen, 
sir? 

Dr. J. — Why, sir, I am afraid there is none; a 
general anarchy prevails in my kitchen, as I am told 
by Mr. Levat, who says it is not now what it used 
to be! 

Mrs. T. — Mr. Levat, I suppose, sir, has the office 
of keeping the hospital in health? for he is an 
apothecary. 

Dr. J. — Levat, madam, is a brutal fellow, but I 
have a good regard for him; for his brutality is in 
his manners, not his mind. 

Mr. T. — But how do you get your dinners drest? 

Dr. J. — Why, De Mullin has the chief manage- 
ment of the kitchen; but our roasting is not mag- 
nificent, for we have no jack. 

Mr. T. — No jack? Why, how do they manage 
without? 



1 He had been one of Johnson's amanuenses when he was at 
work on the Dictionary. " Johnson wrote for him a Preface to 
A System of Ancient Geography; and, by the favour of Lord 
Thurlow, got him admitted a poor brother of the Charterhouse." 
{Life, 1. 187.) 



1773] "Poll" 6$ 

Dr. J. — Small joints, I believe, they manage with 
a string, and larger are done at the tavern. I have 
some thoughts (with a profound gravity) of buying 
a jack, because I think a jack is some credit to a 
house. 

Mr. T. — Well, but you'll have a spit, too ? 

Dr. J. — No, sir, no ; that would be superfluous ; for 
we shall never use it; and if a jack is seen, a spit will 
be presumed ! 

Mrs. T. — But pray, sir, who is the Poll you talk 
of? 1 She that you used to abet in her quarrels with 
Mrs. Williams, and call out, " At her again, Poll! 
Never flinch, Poll"? 

Dr. J. — Why, I took to Poll very well at first, 
but she won't do upon a nearer examination. 

Mrs. T. — How came she among you, sir? 

Dr. J. — Why, I don't rightly remember, but we 
could spare her very well from us. Poll is a stupid 
slut; I had some hopes of her at first; but, when 
I talked to her tightly and closely, I could make 
nothing of her; she was wiggle-waggle, and I could 
never persuade her to be categorical. I wish Miss 
Burney would come among us; if she would only give 
us a week, we should furnish her with ample materials 
for a new scene in her next work. 2 

1 This question has, so far as I am aware, never been an- 
swered. Johnson seems to avoid answering it here. Apart from 
the information here given, we know only that she was a Miss 
Carmichael. I have sometimes wondered whether she might not 
be the prostitute whom Johnson rescued. (Life, 4. 321.) In sup- 
port of this rather vague assumption, we may note that Boswell 
derived his information regarding this woman from Mrs. Des- 
moulins, who obviously knew the " Poll " here referred to. 

2 Her comedy, The Witlings; see above, p. 53, note 2. 



66 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

A little while after he asked Mrs. Thrale, who had 
read Evelina in his absence ? 

"Who?" cried she,— " why, Burke!— Burke sat 
up all night to finish it ; x and Sir Joshua Reynolds 
is mad about it, and said he would give fifty 
pounds to know the author. 2 But our fun was 
with his nieces — we made them believe I wrote 
the book, 3 and the girls gave me the credit of it at 
once." 

"I am very sorry for it, madam," cried he, quite 
angrily, — "you were much to blame; deceits of that 
kind ought never to be practised; they have a worse 
tendency than you are aware of." 4 

Mr. T. — Why, don't frighten yourself, sir; Miss 
Burney will have all the credit she has a right to, for 
I told them whose it was before they went. 

Dr. J. — But you were very wrong for misleading 
them for a moment; such jests are extremely blame- 
able; they are foolish in the very act, and they are 
wrong, because they always leave a doubt upon the 
mind. What first passed will be always recollected 
by those girls, and they will never feel clearly con- 
vinced which wrote the book, Mrs. Thrale or Miss 
Burney. 

Mrs. T. — Well, well, I am ready to take my Bible 

1 See Diary, 1. 107. 
8 See Diary, 1. 104. 

* See Diary, 1. 104. ff. 

* Johnson's "hatred of deceit almost amounted to a ruling pas- 
sion. " He inculcated upon all his friends the importance of 
perpetual vigilance against the slightest degrees of falsehood." 
(Life, 3. 229-230.) A conversation with Mrs. Thrale and Boswell 
on the same subject is recorded on p. 228 of the same volume. 



1778] Johnson Wishes Fanny to Prattle 67 

oath it was not me; and if that won't do, Miss Bur- 
ney must take hers too. 

I was then looking over the Life of Cowley, which 
he had himself given me to read, at the same time 
that he gave to Mrs. Thrale that of Waller. They 
are now printed, though they will not be published 
for some time. 1 But he bade me put it away. 

" Do," cried he, " put away that now, and prattle 
with us ; I can't make this little Burney prattle, and I 
am sure she prattles well; but I shall teach her an- 
other lesson than to sit thus silent before I have done 
with her." 

" To talk," cried I, " is the only lesson I shall be 
backward to learn from you, sir." 

" You shall give me," cried he, " a discourse upon 
the passions: come, begin! Tell us the necessity of 
regulating them, watching over and curbing them! 
Did you ever read Norris's Theory of Love? " 2 

" No, sir," said I, laughing, yet staring a little. 

Dr. J. — Well, it is worth your reading. He will 
make you see that inordinate love is the root of all 
evil: inordinate love of wealth brings on avarice; of 
wine, brings on intemperance; of power, brings on 
cruelty ; and so on. He deduces from inordinate love 
all human frailty. 

Mrs. T. — To-morrow, sir, Mrs. Montagu dines 
here, and then you will have talk enough. 

Dr. Johnson began to see-saw, with a countenance 
strongly expressive of inward fun, and after enjoying 

x They were published late in March of the following year. 
8 A work published in 1688 by the Rev. John Norris (1657-1711). 



68 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

it some time in silence, he suddenly and with great 
animation turned to me and cried, 

"Down with her, Burney! — down with her! — 
spare her not ! attack her, fight her, and down with her 
at once ! You are a rising wit, and she is at the top; 
and when I was beginning the world, and was noth- 
ing and nobody, the joy of my life was to fire at all 
the established wits ; 1 and then everybody loved to 
halloo me on. But there is no game now; everybody 
would be glad to see me conquered; but then, when 
I was new, to vanquish the great ones was all the 
delight of my poor little dear soul ! So at her, Bur- 
ney, — at her, and down with her! " 

Oh, how we were all amused ! By the way I must 
tell you that Mrs. Montagu is in very great estima- 
tion here, even with Dr. Johnson himself, when others 
do not praise her improperly. Mrs. Thrale ranks 
her as the first of women in the literary way. I 
should have told you that Miss Gregory, daughter 
of the Gregory 2 who wrote the Letters, or Legacy of 
Advice, lives with Mrs. Montagu, and was invited 
to accompany her. 

" Mark now," said Dr. Johnson, " if I contradict 
her to-morrow. I am determined, let her say what 
she will, that I will not contradict her." 

Mrs. T. — Why, to be sure, sir, you did put her a 
little out of countenance last time she came. Yet 



1 A famous instance of this is his interruption of a conversa- 
tion between Richardson and Hogarth {Life, i. 147), at a time when 
he himself was almost unknown. 

a John Gregory (1724-1773), professor of medicine at Edinburgh 
University. 



1778] Mrs. Montagu 69 

you were neither rough, nor cruel, nor ill-natured; but 
still, when a lady changes colour, we imagine her 
feelings are not quite composed. 

Dr. J. — Why, madam, I won't answer that I shan't 
contradict her again, if she provokes me as she did 
then; but a less provocation I will withstand. I be- 
lieve I am not high in her good graces already; and I 
begin (added he, laughing heartily) to tremble for 
my admission into her new house. 1 I doubt I shall 
never see the inside of it. 

(Mrs. Montagu is building a most superb house.) 

Mrs. T. — Oh, I warrant you, she fears you, indeed; 
but that, you know, is nothing uncommon ; and dearly 
I love to hear your disquisitions ; for certainly she is 
the first woman for literary knowledge in England, 
and if in England, I hope I may say in the world. 

Dr. J. — I believe you may, madam. She diffuses 
more knowledge in her conversation than any woman 
I know, or, indeed, almost any man. 

Mrs. T. — I declare I know no man equal to her, 
take away yourself and Burke, for that art. And 
you who love magnificence, won't quarrel with her, 
as everybody else does, for her love of finery. 

Dr. J. — No, I shall not quarrel with her upon that 
topic. (Then, looking earnestly at me), " Nay," he 
added, " it's very handsome! " 

"What, sir?" cried I, amazed. 

A Why, your cap : — I have looked at it some time, 
and I like it much. It has not that vile bandeau 
across it, which I have so often cursed." 

1 See pp. 74-75. 



70 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

Did you ever hear anything so strange? nothing 
escapes him. My Daddy Crisp is not more minute 
in his attentions: nay, I think he is even less so. 

Mrs. T. — Well, sir, that bandeau you quarrelled 
with was worn by every woman at court the last 
birthday, and I observed that all the men found fault 
with it. 

Dr. J. — The truth is, women, take them in gen- 
eral, have no idea of grace. Fashion is all they think 
of. I don't mean Mrs. Thrale and Miss Burney, 
when I talk of women ! — They are goddesses ! and 
therefore I accept them. 

Mrs. T. — Lady Ladd * never wore the bandeau, 
and said she never would, because it is unbecoming. 

Dr. J. — (laughing) Did not she? Then is Lady 
Ladd a charming woman, and I have yet hopes of 
entering into engagements with her! 

Mrs. T. — Well, as to that I can't say; but to be 
sure, the only similitude I have yet discovered in 
you, is in size; there you agree mighty well. 

Dr. J. Why, if anybody could have worn the 
bandeau, it must have been Lady Ladd; for there is 
enough of her to carry it off; but you are too little 
for anything ridiculous; that which seems nothing 
upon a Patagonian, will become very conspicuous 
upon a Lilliputian, and of you there is so little in 
all, that one single absurdity would swallow up half 
of you. 

Some time after, when we had all been a few min- 
utes wholly silent, he turned to me and said, 

1 Another spelling of Lade. She was Mr. Thrale's sister. 



1778] Always Fly at the Eagle! 71 

" Come, Burney, shall you and I study our parts 
against Mrs. Montagu comes ?" 

" Miss Burney," cried Mr. Thrale, " you must 
get up your courage for this encounter ! I think you 
should begin with Miss Gregory; and down with her 
first." 

Dr. J. — No, no, always fly at the eagle ! down with 
Mrs. Montagu herself! I hope she will come full 
of Evelina! 

Wednesday. — At breakfast, Dr. Johnson asked me, 
if I had been reading his Life of Cowley? 

" Oh yes," said I. 

"And what do you think of it? " 

11 1 am delighted with it," cried I; " and if I was 
somebody, I should not have read it without telling 
you sooner what I think of it, and unasked." 

Again, when I took up Cowley's Life, he made 
me put it away to talk. I could not help remarking 
how very like Dr. Johnson is to his writing ; and how 
much the same thing it was to hear or to read him ; x 
but that nobody could tell that without coming to 
Streatham, for his language was generally imagined 
to be laboured and studied, instead of the mere com- 
mon flow of his thoughts. 

1 His style in his last work was, in general, much simpler than 
in his earlier writings. It is also true that in general his con- 
versational style was much easier when talking with Miss Burney 
and Mrs. Thrale than when "talking for victory." Mrs. Thrale 
said of his style that it was " so natural to him, and so much like 
his natural mode of conversing, that I was myself but little 
astonished when he told me, that he had scarcely read over one of 
those inimitable essays \The Rambler] before they went to the 
press." ('Anecdotes,' Miscellanies, 1.348.) 



72 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

" Very true," said Mrs. Thrale, " he writes and 
talks with the same ease, and in the same manner; 
but, sir (to him), if this rogue is like her book, how 
will she trim all of us by and by ! Now, she dainties 
us up with all the meekness in the world; but when 
we are away, I suppose she pays us off finely." 

" My paying off," cried I, " is like the Latin of 
Hudibras, 

" ' . . . who never scanted, 
His learning unto such as wanted;' 

for I can figure like anything when I am with those 
who can't figure at all." 

Mrs. T. — Oh, if you have any mag 1 m you, 
we'll draw it out! 

Dr. J. — A rogue ! she told me that if she was some- 
body instead of nobody, she would praise my book! 

F. B. — Why, sir, I am sure you would scoff my 
praise. 

Dr. J. — If you think that, you think very ill of 
me; but you don't think it. 

Mrs. T. — We have told her what you said to Miss 
More, and I believe that makes her afraid. 2 

Dr. Johnson. — Well, and if she was to serve me 
as Miss More did, I should say the same thing of 
her. But I think she will not. Hannah More has 
very good intellects, too; but she has by no means 
the elegance of Miss Burney. 

'"Chatter." (N.E.D.) The first recorded use of the word. 
2 See above, p. 60. 



1778] Love, or Only Admiration? 73 

" Well," cried I, " there are folks that are to be 
spoilt, and folks that are not to be spoilt, as well 
in the world as in the nursery ; but what will become 
of me, I know not." 

Mrs. T. — Well, if you are spoilt, we can only say, 
nothing in the world is so pleasant as being spoilt. 

Dr. J. — No, no; Burney will not be spoilt; she 
knows too well what praise she has a claim to, and 
what not, to be in any danger of spoiling. 

F. B. — I do, indeed, believe I shall never be spoilt 
at Streatham, for it is the last place where I can feel 
of any consequence. 

Mrs. T. — Well, sir, she is our Miss Burney, how- 
ever; we were the first to catch her, and now we have 
got, we will keep her And so she is all our own. 

Dr. J. — Yes, I hope she is ; I should be very sorry 
to lose Miss Burney. 

F. B. — Oh, dear! how can two such people sit and 
talk such 

Mrs. T. — Such stuff, you think? but Dr. Johnson's 
love 

Dr. J. — Love? no, I don't entirely love her yet; 
I must see more of her first; I have much too high 
an opinion of her to flatter her. I have, indeed, seen 
nothing of her but what is fit to be loved, but I must 
know her more. I admire her, and greatly too. 

F. B. — Well, this is a very new style to me! I 
have long enough had reason to think myself loved, 
but admiration is perfectly new to me. 

Dr. J. — I admire her for her observation, for her 
good sense, for her humour, for her discernment, for 



74 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

her manner of expressing them, and for all her writ- 
ing talents. 

I quite sigh beneath the weight of such praise from 
such persons — sigh with mixed gratitude for the pres- 
ent, and fear for the future ; for I think I shall never, 
never be able to support myself long so well with 
them. 

We could not prevail with him to stay till Mrs. 
Montagu arrived. . . . 

When dinner was upon table, I followed the pro- 
cession, in a tragedy step, as Mr. Thrale will have 
it, into the dining-parlour. Dr. Johnson was re- 
turned. 

The conversation was not brilliant, nor do I re- 
member much of it; but Mrs. Montagu behaved to 
me just as I could have wished, since she spoke to 
me very little, but spoke that little with the utmost 
politeness. But Miss Gregory, though herself a very 
modest girl, quite stared me out of countenance, and 
never took her eyes off my face. 

When Mrs. Montagu's new house was talked of, 
Dr. Johnson, in a jocose manner, desired to know if 
he should be invited to see it. 

" Ay, sure," cried Mrs. Montague, looking well 
pleased; " or else I shan't like it: but I invite you all 
to a house warming; I shall hope for the honour 
of seeing all this company at my new house next 
Easter day: I fix the day now that it may be re- 
membered." 

Everybody bowed and accepted the invite but me, 



1778] Mrs. Montagu 75 

and I thought fitting not to hear it; for I have no 
notion of snapping at invites from the eminent. 
But Dr. Johnson, who sat next to me, was determined 
I should be of the party, for he suddenly clapped 
his hand on my shoulder, and called out aloud, 

" Little Burney, you and I will go together! " 

" Yes, surely," cried Mrs. Montagu, " I shall 
hope for the pleasure of seeing ' Evelina.' " 

"Evelina?" repeated he; "has Mrs. Montagu 
then found out Evelina?" 

" Yes," cried she, " and I am proud of it; I am 
proud that a work so commended should be a 



woman's." 



Oh, how my face burnt ! 

" Has Mrs. Montagu," asked Dr. Johnson, " read 
Evelina? " 

"No, sir, not yet; but I shall immediately, for 
I feel the greatest eagerness to read it." 

" I am very sorry, madam," replied he, " that you 
have not read it already, because you cannot speak 
of it with a full conviction of its merits: which, I 
believe, when you have read it, you will find great 
pleasure in acknowledging." 

Some other things were said, but I remember them 
not, for I could hardly keep my place : but my sweet, 
naughty Mrs. Thrale looked delighted for me. 

I made tea as usual, and Mrs. Montagu and Miss 
Gregory seated themselves on each side of me. 

" I can see," said the former, " that Miss Burney 
is very like her father, and that is a good thing, for 
everybody would wish to be like Dr. Burney. Pray, 



76 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

when you see him, give my best respects to him ; I am 
afraid he thinks me a thief with his Lingnet; % but I 
assure you I am a very honest woman, and I spent 
full three hours in looking for it." 

" I am sure," cried Mrs. Thrale, " Dr. Burney 
would much rather you should have employed that 
time about the other book." 

They went away very early, because Mrs. Mon- 
tagu is a great coward in a carriage. She repeated 
her invitation as she left the room. So now that I 
am invited to Mrs. Montagu's, I think the measure of 
my glory full ! 

When they were gone, how did Dr. Johnson as- 
tonish me by asking if I had observed what an ugly 
cap Miss Gregory had on? And then taking both 
my hands, and looking at me with an expression of 
much kindness, he said, 

" Well, Miss Burney, Mrs. Montagu now will 
read Evelina." 

To read it he seems to think is all that is wanted, 
and, far as I am from being of the same opinion, I 
dare not to him make disqualifying speeches, because 
it might seem impertinent to suppose her more diffi- 
cult to please than himself. 

" You are very kind, sir," cried I, " to speak of 
it with so much favour and indulgence at dinner; 
yet I hardly knew how to sit it then, though I shall 
be always proud to remember it hereafter." 



1 A French polemical writer (1736-1794). Dr. Burney had lent a 
volume of his works to Mrs. Montagu; she had lost it. (Diary, 

I. X2X.) 



1778] Johnson Sanctions Evelina 77 

"Why, it is true," said he, kindly, "that such 
things are disagreeable to sit, nor do I wonder you 
were distressed; yet sometimes they are necessary." 

Was this not very kind ? I am sure he meant that 
the sanction of his good opinion, so publicly given 
to Mrs. Montagu, would in a manner stamp the suc- 
cess of my book; and though, had I been allowed to 
preserve the snugness I had planned, I need not have 
concerned myself at all about its fate, yet now that 
I find myself exposed with it, I cannot but wish it 
insured from disgrace. 

" Well, sir," cried I, " I don't think I shall mind 
Mrs. Montagu herself now; after what you have 
said, I believe I should not mind even abuse from 
any one." 

" No, no, never mind them! " cried he; " resolve 
not to mind them: they can do you no serious hurt." 

Mrs. Thrale then told me such civil things. Mrs. 
Montagu, it seems, during my retreat, inquired very 
particularly what kind of book it was? 

" And I told her," continued Mrs. Thrale, " that 
it was a picture of life, manners, and characters. 
1 But won't she go on ? ' says she ; ' surely she won't 
stop here ? ' 

" ' Why,' said I, ' I want her to go on a new path 
— I want her to write a comedy.' 

" ' But,' said Mrs. Montagu, ' one thing must be 
considered; Fielding, who was so admirable in novel- 
writing, never succeeded when he wrote for the 
stage.' " 

"Very well said," cried Dr. Johnson; "that was 



78 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

an answer which showed she considered her sub- 
ject." 

Monday, September 21. — I am more comfortable 
here than ever; Dr. Johnson honours me with increas- 
ing kindness ; Mr. Thrale is much more easy and so- 
ciable than when I was here before ; I am quite jocose, 
whenever I please, with Miss Thrale ; and the charm- 
ing head and life of the house, her mother, stands the 
test of the closest examination, as well and as much to 
her honour as she does a mere cursory view. She is, 
indeed, all that is excellent and desirable in woman. 

I have had a thousand delightful conversations 
with Dr. Johnson, who, whether he loves me or not, 
I am sure seems to have some opinion of my discre- 
tion, for he speaks of all this house to me with un- 
bounded confidence, neither diminishing faults, nor 
exaggerating praise. Whenever he is below stairs he 
keeps me a prisoner, for he does not like I should 
quit the room a moment; if I rise he constantly calls 
out, " Don't you go, little Burney! " 

Last night, when we were talking of compliments 
and gross speeches, Mrs. Thrale most justly said 
that nobody could make either like Dr. Johnson. 
" Your compliments, sir, are made seldom, but when 
they are made they have an elegance unequalled; 
but then when you are angry, who dares make 
speeches so bitter and so cruel? " 

Dr. J. — Madam, I am always sorry when I make 
bitter speeches, and I never do it but when I am 
insufferably vexed. 



1778] Johnson's Scolding 79 

Mrs. T. — Yes, sir; but you suffer things to vex 
you, that nobody else would vex at. I am sure I 
have had my share of scolding from you ! 

Dr. J. — It is true, you have; but you have borne 
it like an angel, and you have been the better 
for it. 

Mrs. T. — That I believe, sir: for I have received 
more instruction from you than from any man, or 
any book; and the vanity that you should think me 
worth instruction, always overcame the vanity of 
being found fault with. And you had the scolding 
and I the improvement. 

F. B. — And I am sure both make for the honour 
of both. 

Dr. J. — I think so too. But Mrs. Thrale is a sweet 
creature, and never angry; she has a temper the most 
delightful of any woman I ever knew. 

Mrs. T. — This I can tell you, sir, and without any 
flattery — I not only bear your reproofs when present, 
but in almost everything I do in your absence, I ask 
myself whether you would like it, and what you would 
say to it. Yet I believe there is nobody you dispute 
with oftener than me. 

F. B. — But you two are so well established with one 
another, that you can bear a rebuff that would kill a 
stranger. 

Dr. J. — Yes; but we disputed the same before we 
were so well established with one another. 

Mrs. T. — Oh, sometimes I think I shall die no 
other death than hearing the bitter things he says 
to others. What he says to myself I can bear, because 



80 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

I know how sincerely he is my friend, and that he 
means to mend me; but to others it is cruel. 

Dr. J. — Why, madam, you often provoke me to 
say severe things, by unreasonable commendation. 1 
If you would not call for my praise, I would not 
give you my censure; but it constantly moves my in- 
dignation to be applied to, to speak well of a thing 
which I think contemptible. 

F. B. — Well, this I know, whoever I may hear 
complain of Dr. Johnson's severity, I shall always 
vouch for his kindness, as far as regards myself, and 
his indulgence. 

Mrs. T. — Ay, but I hope he will trim you yet, 
too! 

Dr. J. — I hope not: I should be very sorry 
to say anything that should vex my dear little 
Burney. 

F. B. — If you did, sir, it would vex me more than 
you can imagine. I should sink in a minute. 

Mrs. T. — I remember, sir, when we were travelling 
in Wales, 2 how you called me to account for my 
civility to the people; " Madam, " you said, " let me 
have no more of this idle commendation of nothing. 
Why is it, that whatever you see, and whoever you 

1 " Mrs. Thrale gave high praise to Mr. Dudley Long (now 
North). Johnson. 'Nay, my dear lady, don't talk so. Mr. 
Long's character is very short. It is nothing. He fills a chair. He 
is a man of genteel appearance, and that is all. I know nobody 
who blasts by praise as you do: for wherever there is exaggerated 
praise, everybody is set against a character. They are provoked to 
attack it. Now there is Pepys; you praised that man with such 
disproportion, that I was incited to lessen him, perhaps more than 
he deserves. His blood is upon your head."' {Life, 4.81-82.) 

2 In 1774. 



1778] Mrs. Thrale Is Civil for Four 81 

see, you are to be so indiscriminately lavish of 
praise? " " Why, I'll tell you, sir," said I, " when I 
am with you, and Mr. Thrale, and Queeny, I am 
obliged to be civil for four ! " 

There was a cutter for you ! But this I must say, 
for the honour of both — Mrs. Thrale speaks to Dr. 
Johnson with as much sincerity (though with greater 
softness), as he does to her. 

Streatham, September 26. — I have, from want of 
time, neglected my journal so long, that I cannot 
now pretend to go on methodically, and be particular 
as to dates. 

Messrs. Stephen and Rose Fuller 1 stayed very 
late on Monday; the former talking very rationally 
upon various subjects, and the latter boring us with 
his systems and " those sort of things." Yet he is 
something of a favourite, " in that sort of way," at 
this house, because of his invincible good humour, 
and Mrs. Thrale says she would not change him as a 
neighbour for a much wiser man. Dr. Johnson says 
he would make a very good Mr. Smith: 2 " Let him 
but," he adds, " pass a month or two in Holborn, 
and I would desire no better." 

The other evening the conversation fell upon Rom- 
ney, the painter, who has lately got into great busi- 
ness, and who was first recommended and patronized 
by Mr. Cumberland. 



1 For Rose Fuller, see above, p. 41. Stephen Fuller was his 
uncle. 

2 A character in Evelina, a notable bore and intruder. 



82 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

" See, madam," said Dr. Johnson, laughing, " what 
it is to have the favour of a literary man! I think 
I have had no hero a great while; Dr. Goldsmith 
was my last; but I have had none since his time till 
my little Burney came ! " 

" Ay, sir," said Mrs. Thrale, " Miss Burney is the 
heroine now; is it not really true, sir? " 

" To be sure it is, my dear! " answered he, with a 
gravity that made not only me, but Mr. Thrale laugh 
heartily. 

Another time, Mr. Thrale said he had seen Dr. 
Jebb, 1 " and he told me he was afraid Miss Burney 
would have gone into a consumption," said he; " but 
I informed him how well you are, and he committed 
you to my care; so I shall insist now upon being sole 
judge of what wine you drink." 

(N.B. He had often disputed this point.) 

Dr. J. — Why, did Dr. Jebb forbid her wine? 

F. B. — Yes, sir. 

Dr. J. — Well, he was in the right; he knows 
how apt wits are to transgress that way. He was 
certainly right! 

In this sort of ridiculous manner he wits me eter- 
nally. But the present chief sport with Mrs. Thrale 
is disposing of me in the holy state of matrimony, 
and she offers me whoever comes to the house. 
This was begun by Mrs. Montagu, who, it seems, 
proposed a match for me in my absence, with 
Sir Joshua Reynolds! — no less a man, I assure 
you! 

1 Mr. Thrale's physician; see above, p. 36. 



1778] Whom Shall Fanny Marry? 83 

When I was dressing for dinner, Mrs. Thrale told 
me that Mr. Crutchley was expected. 

"Who's he?" quoth I. 

" A young man of very large fortune, who was a 
ward of Mr. Thrale. 1 Queeny, what do you say of 
him for Miss Burney?" 

"Him?" cried she; "no, indeed; what has Miss 
Burney done to have him? " 

" Nay, believe me, a man of his fortune may offer 
himself anywhere. However, I won't recommend 
him." 

" Why then, ma'am," cried I, with dignity, " I 
reject him ! " 

This Mr. Crutchley stayed till after breakfast the 
next morning. I can't tell you anything of him, 
because I neither like nor dislike him. 

Mr. Crutchley was scarce gone, ere Mr. Smith 
arrived. Mr. Smith is a second cousin of Mr. Thrale, 
and a modest pretty sort of young man. 

He stayed till Friday morning. When he was 
gone, 

" What say you to him, Miss Burney? " cried Mrs. 
Thrale — " I am sure I offer you variety." 

"Why, I like him better than Mr. Crutchley, 
but I don't think I shall pine for either of 
them." 

" Dr. Johnson," said Mrs. Thrale, " don't you 
think Jerry Crutchley very much improved? " 

Dr. J. — Yes, madam, I think he is. 

1 Jeremiah Crutchley was thought by Mrs. Thrale to be her hus- 
band's natural son. He was later one of Thrale's executors. 



84 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

Mrs. T. — Shall he have Miss Burney? 

Dr. J. — Why, I think not; at least I must know 
more of him; I must inquire into his connections, his 
recreations, his employments, and his character, from 
his intimates, before I trust Miss Burney with him. 
And he must come down very handsomely with a 
settlement. I will not have him left to his generosity; 
for as he will marry her for her wit, and she him for 
his fortune, he ought to bid well; and let him come 
down with what he will, his price will never be equal 
to her worth. 

Mrs. T. — She says she likes Mr. Smith better. 

Dr. J. — Yes, but I won't have her like Mr. Smith 
without the money, better than Mr Crutchley with it. 
Besides, if she has Crutchley, he will use her well, to 
vindicate his choice. The world, madam, has a rea- 
sonable claim upon all mankind to account for their 
conduct; therefore, if with his great wealth he marries 
a woman who has but little, he will be more attentive 
to display her merit than if she was equally rich, — 
in order to show that the woman he has chosen de- 
serves from the world all the respect and admiration 
it can bestow, or that else she would not have been his 
choice. 

Mrs. T. — I believe young Smith is the better man. 

F. B. — Well, I won't be rash in thinking of either; 
I will take some time for consideration before I fix. 

Dr. J. — Why, I don't hold it to be delicate to offer 
marriage to ladies, even in jest, nor do I approve such 
sort of jocularity; yet for once I must break through 
the rules of decorum, and propose a match myself 



1778] Shall It Be Sir John Lade? 85 

for Miss Burney. I therefore nominate Sir J 

L - 1 

Mrs. T. — I'll give you my word, sir, you are not 
the first to say that, for my master, the other morning, 
when we were alone, said, " What would I give that 

Sir J L was married to Miss Burney; it 

might restore him to our family." So spoke his 
uncle and guardian. 

F. B.— He, he ! Ha, ha ! He, he ! Ha, ha ! 

Dr. J. — That was elegantly said of my master, and 
nobly said, and not in the vulgar way we have been 
saying it. And where, madam, will you find another 
man in trade, who will make such a speech — who will 
be capable of making such a speech? Well, I am 
glad my master takes so to Miss Burney; I would 
have everybody take to Miss Burney, so as they 
allow me to take to her most! Yet I don't know 

whether Sir J L should have her, neither. 

I should be afraid for her; I don't think I would 
hand her to him. 

F. B. — Why, now, what a fine match is here broken 
off! 

Some time after, when we were in the library, he 
asked me very gravely if I loved reading? 

" Yes," quoth I. 

" Why do you doubt it, sir? " cried Mrs. Thrale. 

" Because," answered he, " I never see her with 
a book in her hand. I have taken notice that she 
never has been reading whenever I have come into 
the room." 

1 Sir John Lade; see above, pp. 33 ff. 



86 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

" Sir," quoth I courageously, " I am always afraid 
of being caught reading, lest I should pass for being 
studious or affected, and therefore instead of making 
a display of books, I always try to hide them, as is 
the case at this very time, for I have now your Life of 
Waller under my gloves behind me. However, since 
I am piqued to it, I'll boldly produce my voucher." 

And so saying, I put the book on the table, and 
opened it with a flourishing air. And then the laugh 
was on my side, for he could not help making a droll 
face; and if he had known Kitty Cooke, 1 I would 
have called out, " There I had you, my lad! " 

" And now," quoth Mrs. Thrale, " you must be 
more careful than ever of not being thought bookish, 
for now you are known for a wit and a bel esprit, you 
will be watched, and if you are not upon your guard, 
all the misses will rise up against you." 

Dr. J. — Nay, nay, now it is too late. You may read 
as much as you will now, for you are in for it, — 
you are dipped over head and ears in the Castalian 
stream, and so I hope you will be invulnerable. 

Another time, when we were talking of the licen- 
tiousness of the newspapers, Dr. Johnson said, 

" I wonder they have never yet had a touch at 
little Burney." 

" Oh, Heaven forbid!" cried I: "I am sure if 
they did, I believe I should try the depth of Mr. 
Thrale's spring-pond." 

" No, no, my dear, no," cried he kindly, " you must 

1 The niece of the woman with whom Mr. Crisp lodged, noted 
for her quaint absurdities of speech. (See Early Diary, passim.) 



1 77$] Miss Burney a Satirist 87 

resolve not to mind them; you must set yourself 
against them, and not let any such nonsense affect 
you." 

"There is nobody," said Mrs. Thrale, "tempers 
the satirist with so much meekness as Miss Burney." 

Satirist, indeed! is it not a satire upon words, to 
call me so? 

" I hope to Heaven I shall never be tried,'' cried 
I. " for I am sure I should never bear it. Of my 
book they may say what they will and welcome, but 
if they touch at me — I shall be " 

" Nay," said Mrs. Thrale. " if you are not afraid 
for the book. I am sure they can say no harm of the 
author." 

" Never let them know," said Dr. Johnson, " which 
way you shall most mind them, and then they will 
stick to the book: but you must never acknowledge 
how tender you are for the author." 

Monday was the day for our great party: and the 
doctor came home, at Mrs. Thrale's request, to meet 
them. . . . 

Lady Ladd: I ought to have begun with her. 1 I 
beg her ladyship a thousand pardons — though if she 
knew my offence, I am sure I should not obtain one. 
She is own sister to Mr. Thrale. She is a tall and 
stout woman, has an air mingled with dignity and 
haughtiness, both of which wear off in conversation. 
She dresses very youthfully and gaily, and attends to 
her person with no little complacency. She appears 

1 She has just been enumerating the guests. 



88 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

to me uncultivated in knowledge, though an adept in 
the manners of the world, and all that. She chooses 
to be much more lively than her brother; but liveli- 
ness sits as awkwardly upon her as her pink ribbons. 
In talking her over with Mrs. Thrale, who has a very 
proper regard for her, but who, I am sure, cannot be 
blind to her faults, she gave me another proof to 
those I have already had, of the uncontrolled free- 
dom of speech which Dr. Johnson exercises to every- 
body, and which everybody receives quietly from him. 
Lady Ladd has been very handsome, but is now, I 
think, quite ugly — at least she has a sort of face I 
like not. Well, she was a little while ago dressed in 
so showy a manner as to attract the doctor's notice, 
and when he had looked at her some time he broke 
out aloud into this quotation : 

" With patches, paint, and jewels on, 
Sure Phillis is not twenty-one ! 
But if at night you Phillis see, 
The dame at least is forty-three ! " 

I don't recollect the verses exactly, but such was their 
purport. 

" However," said Mrs. Thrale, " Lady Ladd took 
it very good-naturedly, and only said, 

" * I know enough of that forty-three — I don't de- 
sire to hear any more about it! ' " . . . 

In the evening the company divided pretty much 
into parties, and almost everybody walked upon the 
gravel-walk before the windows. I was going to have 



I 77^] Johnson Salutes Fanny 89 

joined some of them, when Dr. Johnson stopped me, 
and asked how I did. 

" I was afraid, sir," cried I, " you did not intend 
to know me again, for you have not spoken to me be- 
fore since your return from town." 

" My dear," cried he, taking both my hands, " I 
was not sure of you, I am so near-sighted, 1 and I 
apprehended making some mistake." 

Then drawing me very unexpectedly towards him, 
he actually kissed me ! 

To be sure, I was a little surprised, having no 
idea of such facetiousness from him. However, I 
was glad nobody was in the room but Mrs. Thrale, 
who stood close to us, and Mr. Embry, who was 
lounging on a sofa at the farthest end of the room, 
Mrs. Thrale laughed heartily, and said she hoped I 
was contented with his amends for not knowing me 
sooner. 

A little after she said she would go and walk with 
the rest if she did not fear for my reputation in being 
left with the doctor. 

" However, as Mr. Embry is yonder, I think he'll 
take some care of you," she added. 

" Ay, madam," said the doctor, " we shall do very 
well; but I assure you I shan't part with Miss Bur- 
ney!" 

And he held me by both hands; and when Mrs. 
Thrale went, he drew me a chair himself facing the 
window, close to his own ; and thus tete-a-tete we con- 
tinued almost all the evening. I say tete-a-tete, be- 

1 Cf. pp. 3, 63, 156. 



90 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

cause Mr. Embry kept at an humble distance, and 
offered us no interruption. And though Mr. Seward 
soon after came in, he also seated himself in a dis- 
tant corner, not presuming, he said, to break in upon 
us ! Everybody, he added, gave way to the doctor. 

Our conversation chiefly was upon the Hebrides, 
for he always talks to me of Scotland, out of sport; 
and he wished I had been of that tour x — quite 
gravely, as I assure you ! 

Tuesday morning our breakfast was delightful. 
We had Mr. Seward, Mr. Embry, and Lady Ladd 
added to our usual party, and Dr. Johnson was quite 
in a sportive humour. But I can only write some few 
speeches, wanting time to be prolix, not inclination. 

" Sir," said Mrs. Thrale to Dr. Johnson, " why 
did you not sooner leave your wine yesterday, and 
come to us? we had a Miss who sung and played 
like anything! " 

"Ay, had you?" said he drolly; " and why did 
you not call me to the rapturous entertainment ? " 

" Why, I was afraid you would not have praised 
her, for I sat thinking all the time myself whether it 
were better to sing and play as she sang and played, 
or to do nothing. And at first I thought she had 
the best of it, for we were but stupid before she began ; 
but afterwards she made it so long, that I thought 
nothing had all the advantage. But, sir, Lady Ladd 
has had the same misfortune you had, for she has 
fallen down and hurt herself woefully." 

1 The famous tour with Boswell in 1773. 



1778] Lady Ladd 91 

" How did that happen, madam? " 

" Why, sir, the heel of her shoe caught in some- 
thing." 

" Heel? " replied he; " nay, then, if her ladyship, 
who walks six foot high " (N.B. this is a fact) , 
" will wear a high heel, I think she almost deserves 
a fall." 

" Nay, sir, my heel was not so high ! " cried Lady 
Ladd. 

" But, madam, why should you wear any? That 
for which there is no occasion, had always better be 
dispensed with. However, a fall to your ladyship 
is nothing," continued he, laughing; " you, who are 
light and little, can soon recover; but I who am a 
gross man, might suffer severely; with your ladyship 
the case is different, for 

" * Airy substance soon unites again.' " 

Poor Lady Ladd, who is quite a strapper, 1 made no 
answer, but she was not offended. Mrs. Thrale and 
I afterwards settled, that not knowing his allusion 
from the Rape of the Lock, she only thought he had 
made a stupid sort of speech, and did not trouble 
herself to find a meaning to it. 

" However," continued he, " if my fall does con- 
fine me, I will make my confinement pleasant, for 
Miss Burney shall nurse me — positively! " (and he 
slapped his hand on the table) , " and then, she shall 
sing to me, and soothe my cares." 

1 See above, p. 70, where she and Johnson are said to be of a 
size. 



92 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778 

When public news was started, Mr. Thrale de- 
sired the subject might be waived till my father 
came, and could let us know what part of the late 
accounts were true. 

Mr. Thrale then offered to carry Mr. Seward, 
who was obliged to go to town, in the coach with him, 
— and Mr. Embry also left us. But Dr. Johnson 
sat with Mrs. Thrale and Lady Ladd, and me for an 
hour or two. 

The subject was given by Lady Ladd; it was the 
respect due from the lower class of the people. 

" I know my place," said she, " and I always take 
it: and I've no notion of not taking it. But Mrs. 
Thrale lets all sort of people do just as they've a 
mind by her." 

" Ay," said Mrs. Thrale, " why should I torment 
and worry myself about all the paltry marks of respect 
that consist in bows and courtesies? — I have no idea 
of troubling myself about the manners of all the 
people I mix with." 

" No,' said Lady Ladd, " so they will take all 
sorts of liberties with you. I remember, when you 
were at my house, how the hair-dresser flung down 
the comb as soon as you were dressed, and went out 
of the room without making a bow." 

11 Well, all the better," said Mrs. Thrale; " for if 
he had made me one, ten thousand to one if I had 
seen it. I was in as great haste to have done with 
him, as he could be to have done with me. I was 
glad enough to get him out of the room; I did not 
want him to stand bowing and cringing." 



1778] The Respect Due from Inferiors 93 

" If any man had behaved so insolently to me," 
answered she, " I would never again have suffered 
him in my house. " 

" Well," said Mrs. Thrale, " your ladyship has a 
great deal more dignity than I have ! — Dr. Johnson, 
we are talking of the respect due from inferiors; — 
and Lady Ladd is of the same side you are." 

" Why, madam," said he, " subordination is al- 
ways necessary to the preservation of order and 
decorum." 1 

" I protest," said Lady Ladd, " I have no notion 
of submitting to any kind of impertinence: and I 
never will bear either to have any person nod to me, 
or enter a room, where I am, without bowing." 

" But, madam," said Dr. Johnson, " what if they 
will nod, and what if they won't bow? — how then? " 

" Why, I always tell them of it," said she. 

" Oh, commend me to that! " cried Mrs. Thrale; 
" I'd sooner never see another bow in my life, than 
turn dancing-master to hair-dressers." 

The doctor laughed his approbation, but said that 
every man had a right to a certain degree of respect, 
and no man liked to be defrauded of that right. 

" Well, sir," said Mrs. Thrale, " I hope you meet 
with respect enough ! " 

" Yes, madam," answered he, " I am very well 
contented." 

" Nay, if you an't, I don't know who should be; 
for I believe there is no man in the world so greatly 
respected." 

1 Ci. Life, 3.383. 



94 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

Soon after he went, I went, and shut myself up in a 
sweet cool summer-house, to read Irene: — which, in- 
deed, though not a good play, is a beautiful poem. 

As my dear father spent the rest of the day here, 
I will not further particularize, but leave accounts 
to his better communication. He probably told you 

that the P family came in to tea; and, as he 

knows Mrs. P , pray tell him what Dr. Johnson 

says of her. When they were gone Mrs. Thrale 
complained that she was quite worn out with that 
tiresome silly woman, who had talked of her family 
and affairs till she was sick to death of hearing her. 

" Madam," said he, " why do you blame the 
woman for the only sensible thing she can do — talk- 
ing of her family and her affairs? For how should 
a woman who is as empty as a drum, talk upon any 
other subject? — If you speak to her of the sun, she 
does not know it rises in the east; — if you speak to 
her of the moon, she does not know it changes at the 
full; if you speak to her of the queen, she does not 
know she is the king's wife; — how, then, can you 
blame her for talking of her family and affairs? " 

On Friday, I had a visit from Dr. Johnson! he 
came on purpose to reason with me about this 
pamphlet, which he had heard from my father had 
so greatly disturbed me. 1 

Shall I not love him more than ever? However, 

1 Soon after her return home, a pamphlet entitled Warley: a 
Satire, appeared, announcing the name of the author of EveUy^' 
It was anonymous, but was addressed to Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
Its appearance well-nigh prostrated Miss Burney. 






1779] A Visit from Johnson 95 

Miss Young 1 was just arrived, and Mr. Bremner x 
spent the evening here, and therefore he had the 
delicacy and goodness to forbear coming to the point. 
Yet he said several things that I understood, though 
they were unintelligible to all others; and he was 
more kind, more good-humoured, more flattering to 
me than ever. Indeed, my uneasiness upon this sub- 
ject has met with more indulgence from him than 
from anybody. He repeatedly charged me not to 
fret ; and bid me not repine at my success, but think of 
Floretta, 2 in the Fairy Tale, who found sweetness 
and consolation in her wit sufficient to counter- 
balance her scoffers and libellers ! Indeed he was all 
good humour and kindness, and seemed quite bent on 
giving me comfort as well as flattery. 

I shall now skip to the Thursday following, when 
I accompanied my father to Streatham. We had 
a delightful ride, though the day was horrible. 

In two minutes we were joined by Mr. Seward, 
and in four, by Dr. Johnson. Mr. Seward, though 
a reserved, and cold young man, has a heart open 
to friendship, and very capable of good-nature and 
goodwill, though I believe it abounds not with them 
to all indiscriminately : but he really loves my father, 
and his reserve once, is always, conquered. He 
seemed heartily glad to see us both: and the dear 

1 Miss Dorothy Young and Mr. Robert Bremner were friends of 
the family, who make an occasional but no very important ap- 
pearance in the pages of the Diary. 

2 Johnson's own creation, the heroine of a fairy-tale entitled, 
The Fountains, which Johnson contributed to Mrs. Williams's 
Miscellanies. (See Life, 2.232.) 



g6 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

Dr. Johnson was more kind, more pleased, and more 
delightful than ever. Our several meetings in town 
seem to have quite established me in his favour, and 
I flatter myself that if he were now accused of lov- 
ing me, he would not deny it, nor, as before, insist 
on waiting longer ere he went so far. 1 

" I hope, Dr. Burney," cried Mr. Seward, " you 
are now come to stay? " 

" No! " cried my father, shaking his head, " that 
is utterly out of my power at present." 

"Well, but this fair lady"— (N.B.— Fair and 
brown are synonymous terms in conversation, how- 
ever opposite in looks) " I hope will stay? " 

" No, no, no ! " was the response, and he came to 
me and pressed the invitation very warmly; but Dr. 
Johnson, going to the window, called me from him. 

" Well, my dear," cried he, in a low voice, " and 
how are you now? have you done fretting? have you 
got over your troubles? " 

" Ah, sir," quoth I, "I am sorry they told you of 
my folly ; yet I am very much obliged to you for bear- 
ing to hear of it with so much indulgence, for I had 
feared it would have made you hold me cheap ever 
after." 

" No, my dear, no ! What should I hold you 
cheap for? It did not surprise me at all; I thought 
it very natural; but you must think no more of it." 

F. B. — Why, sir, to say the truth, I don't know, 
after all, whether I do not owe the affair in part to 
you! 

1 See above, p. 73. 



% y ;? ^r 










;^j 4 f&a*;p 



w/- +- 



*n si 



./ 



\Lrm<^ 4^^d rU-C rOL#t *yy* TT~^ 



? ^ A^v^r- <*&c^v^ *#*~ri&**ff r^^ct^A 

-as ? y- , ^ <? * 



An unpublished letter of Sir Joshua Reynolds' to Mrs. Thrale, 
referring to Miss Burney 






>,.•,'/ 



Q/.-tr^-.-,^^ ^-....tr- /' > ' Cv '-^ £ ~ c 



<[■-" ^\-c^.: 



/i 



1779] The Pamphlet on Miss Burney 97 

Dr. J. — To me? how so? 

F. B.— Why, the appellation of " little Burney," I 
think, must have come from you, for I know of no- 
body else that calls me so. 

This is a fact, Susy, and the " dear little Burney," 
makes it still more suspicious, for I am sure Sir 
Joshua Reynolds would never speak of me so face- 
tiously after only one meeting. 

Dr. Johnson seemed almost shocked, and warmly 
denied having been any way accessory. 

" Why, sir/' cried I, " they say the pamphlet was 
written by a Mr. Huddisford. Now I never saw, 
never heard of him before; how, therefore, should 
he know whether I am little or tall ? he could not call 
me little by inspiration; I might be a Patagonian 
for anything he could tell." 

Dr. J. — Pho! fiddle-faddle; do you suppose your 
book is so much talked of and not yourself? Do you 
think your readers will not ask questions, and inform 
themselves whether you are short or tall, young or 
old? Why should you put it on me? 

After this he made me follow him into the library, 
that we might continue our confab without interrup- 
tion; and just as we were seated, entered Mrs. Thrale. 
I flew to her, and she received me with the sweetest 
cordiality. They placed me between them, and we 
had a most delicious trio. 

We talked over the visit at Sir Joshua's; and Dr. 
Johnson told me that Mrs. Cholmondeley was the 
first person who publicly praised and recommended 
Evelina among the wits. Mrs. Thrale told me that 



98 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

at Tunbridge and Brightelmstone it was the universal 
topic; and that Mrs. Montagu had pronounced the 
dedication to be so well written, that she could not but 
suppose it must be the doctor's. 

" She is very kind," quoth I, " because she likes 
one part better than another, to take it from me! " 

" You must not mind that," said Dr. Johnson, 
" for such things are always said where books are 
successful. There are three distinct kind of judges 
upon all new authors or productions; the first are 
those who know no rules, but pronounce entirely from 
their natural taste and feelings; the second are those 
who know and judge by rules; and the third are those 
who know, but are above the rules. These last are 
those you should wish to satisfy. Next to them rate 
the natural judges; but ever despise those opinions 
that are formed by the rules." 

Mrs. Thrale wanted me much to stay all night, but 
it could not be. 

Last week I called on Mrs. Williams, and Dr. 
Johnson, who had just returned from Streatham, 
came down stairs to me, and was so kind! I quite 
doat on him; and I really believe that, take away Mr. 
Crisp, there is no man out of this house who has so 
real and affectionate a regard for me; and I am sure, 
take away the same person, I can with the utmost 
truth say the same thing in return. 

I asked after the Streathamites. 

" Why," said he, " we now only want you — we 
have Miss Streatfield, Miss Brown, Murphy, and 



1779] At Streatham Again 99 

Seward * — we only want you ! Has Mrs. Thrale 
called on you lately? " 

" Yes, sir." 

"Ah," said he, "you are such a darling! " 

Mrs. Williams added a violent compliment to 
this, but concluded with saying, 

" My only fear is lest she should put me in a 
book!" 

" Sir Joshua Reynolds," answered Dr. Johnson, 
" says, that if he were conscious to himself of any 
trick, or any affectation, there is nobody he should 
so much fear as this little Burney! " 

This speech he told me once before, so that I find 
it has struck him much. 

Streatham, February. — I have been here so* long, 
my dearest Susan, without writing a word, that now 
I hardly know where or how to begin. But I will 
try to draw up a concise account of what has passed 
for this last fortnight, and then endeavour to be 
more minute. 

Mrs. Thrale and Dr. Johnson vied with each other 
in the kindness of their reception of me. Mr. Thrale 
was, as usual at first, cold and quiet, but soon, as 
usual also, warmed into sociality. 

The next day Sir Philip Jennings Clerke 2 came. 
He is not at all a man of letters, but extremely well- 
bred, nay, elegant, in his manners, and sensible and 
agreeable in his conversation. He is a professed 

1 See above, pp. 2, 17, 35-36. 

2 For an account of him and of a similar discussion with Johnson, 
see Life, 4. 80-81. 



ioo Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

minority man, and very active and zealous in the 
opposition. He had, when I came, a bill in agita- 
tion concerning contractors — too long a matter to ex- 
plain upon paper — but which was levelled against 
bribery and corruption in the ministry, and which he 
was to make a motion upon in the House of Commons 
the next week. 

Men of such different principles as Dr. Johnson 
and Sir Philip, you may imagine, cannot have much 
sympathy or cordiality in their political debates ; how- 
ever, the very superior abilities of the former, and 
the remarkable good breeding of the latter, have kept 
both upon good terms ; though they have had several 
arguments, in which each has exerted his utmost force 
for conquest. 

The heads of one of their debates I must try to 
remember, because I should be sorry to forget. Sir 
Philip explained his bill ; Dr. Johnson at first scoffed 
it; Mr. Thrale betted a guinea the motion would not 
pass, and Sir Philip, that he should divide a hun- 
dred and fifty upon it. 

I am afraid, my dear Susan, you already tremble 
at this political commencement, but I will soon have 
done, for I know your taste too well to enlarge upon 
this theme. 

Sir Philip, addressing himself to Mrs. Thrale, hoped 
she would not suffer the Tories to warp her judg- 
ment, and told me he hoped my father had not tainted 
my principles ; and then he further explained his bill, 
and indeed made it appear so equitable, that Mrs. 
Thrale gave in to it, and wished her husband to 



1779] Si r Philip's Bill 10 1 

vote for it. He still hung back; but, to our general 
surprise, Dr. Johnson, having made more particular 
inquiries into its merits, first softened towards it, 
and then declared it a very rational and fair bill, and 
joined with Mrs. Thrale in soliciting Mr. Thrale's 
vote. 

Sir Philip was, and with very good reason, quite 
delighted. He opened upon politics more amply, 
and freely declared his opinions, which were so 
strongly against the Government, and so much border- 
ing upon the republican principles, that Dr. John- 
son suddenly took fire; he called back his recan- 
tation, begged Mr. Thrale not to vote for Sir 
Philip's bill, and grew very animated against his 
antagonist. 

" The bill," said he, " ought to be opposed by all 
honest men ! in itself, and considered simply, it is 
equitable, and I would forward it; but when we find 
what a faction it is to support and encourage, it 
ought not to be listened to. All men should oppose 
it who do not wish well to sedition ! " 

These, and several other expressions yet more 
strong, he made use of; and had Sir Philip had less 
unalterable politeness, I believe they would have had 
a vehement quarrel. He maintained his ground, 
however, with calmness and steadiness, though he had 
neither argument nor wit at all equal to such an 
opponent. 

Dr. Johnson pursued him with unabating vigour 
and dexterity, and at length, though he could not 
convince, he so entirely baffled him, that Sir Philip 



102 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

was self-compelled to be quiet — which, with a very 
good grace, he confessed. 

Dr. Johnson, then, recollecting himself, and think- 
ing as he owned afterwards, that the dispute grew 
too serious, with a skill all his own, suddenly and un- 
expectedly turned it to burlesque; and taking Sir 
Philip by the hand at the moment we arose after 
supper, and were separating for the night, 

" Sir Philip," said he, " you are too liberal a man 
for the party to which you belong; I shall have much 
pride in the honour of converting you; for I really 
believe, if you were not spoiled by bad company, the 
spirit of faction would not have possessed you. Go, 
then, sir, to the House, but make not your motion ! 
Give up your Bill, and surprise the world by turning 
to the side of truth and reason. Rise, sir, when they 
least expect you, and address your fellow-patriots to 
this purpose : — Gentlemen, I have, for many a weary 
day, been deceived and seduced by you. I have now 
opened my eyes ; I see that you are all scoundrels — the 
subversion of all government is your aim. Gentle- 
men, I will no longer herd among rascals in whose 
infamy my name and character must be included. I 
therefore renounce you all, gentlemen, as you de- 
serve to be renounced." 

Then, shaking his hand heartily, he added, 

"Go, sir, go to bed; meditate upon this recanta- 
tion, and rise in the morning a more honest man 
than you laid down " [sic~]. 

Now I must try to be rather more minute. On 



1779] Mr. Murphy 103 

Thursday, while my dear father was here, who should 
be announced but Mr. Murphy; * the man of all 
other strangers to me whom I most longed to see. 

He is tall and well made, has a very gentleman- 
like appearance, and a quietness of manner upon his 
first address that, to me, is very pleasing. His face 
looks sensible, and his deportment is perfectly easy 
and polite. 

When he had been welcomed by Mrs. Thrale, and 
had gone through the reception-salutations of Dr. 
Johnson and my father, Mrs. Thrale, advancing to 
me, said, 

" But here is a lady I must introduce to you, Mr. 
Murphy; here is another F. B." 

" Indeed! " cried he, taking my hand; " is this a 
sister of Miss Brown's ?" 

"No, no; this is Miss Burney." 

" What! " cried he, staring, " is this — is this — this 
is not the lady that — that " 

" Yes, but it is," answered she, laughing. 

" No, you don't say so? You don't mean the lady 
that " 

" Yes, yes, I do; no less a lady, I assure you." 

He then said he was very glad of the honour of 
seeing me; and I sneaked away. 

When we came up stairs, Mrs. Thrale charged me 
to make myself agreeable to Mr. Murphy. 

" He may be of use to you, in what I am most 
eager for — your writing a play : he knows stage busi- 
ness so well; and if you will but take a fancy to one 

1 See above, p. 55, note 2. 



104 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

another, he may be more able to serve you than all 
of us put together. My ambition is that Johnson 
should write your prologue, and Murphy your epi- 
logue; then I shall be quite happy." 

At tea-time, when I went into the library, I found 
Dr. Johnson reading, and Mrs. Thrale in close con- 
ference with Mr. Murphy. 

" It is well, Miss Burney," said the latter, " that 
you have come, for we were abusing you most vilely; 
we were in the very act of pulling you to pieces." 

" Don't you think her very like her father? " said 
Mrs. Thrale. 

" Yes; but what a sad man is Dr. Burney for run- 
ning away so! how long had he been here? " 

Mrs. Thrale. — Oh, but an hour or two. I often 
say Dr. Burney is the most of a male coquet of any 
man I know; for he only gives one enough of his 
company to excite a desire for more. 

Mr. Murphy. — Dr. Burney is, indeed, a most ex- 
traordinary man; I think I don't know such another; 
he is at home upon all subjects, and upon all so agree- 
able ! he is a wonderful man ! " 

And now let me stop this conversation, to go back 
to a similar one with Dr. Johnson, who, a few days 
since, when Mrs. Thrale was singing our father's 
praise, used this expression: 

" I love Burney: my heart goes out to meet 
him!" 

" He is not ungrateful, sir," cried I; "for most 
heartily does he love you." 

11 Does he, madam? I am surprised at that." 



1779] Fanny Should Write a Comedy 105 

" Why, sir? why should you have doubted it? " 

" Because, madam, Dr. Burney is a man for 
all the world to love: it is but natural to love 
him." 

I could almost have cried with delight at this cor- 
dial unlaboured eloge. Another time, he said: 

" I much question if there is, in the world, such 
another man as Dr. Burney." 

But to return to the tea-table. 

" If I," said Mr. Murphy, looking very archly, 
" had written a certain book — a book I won't name, 
but a book I have lately read — I would next write a 
comedy." 

" Good," cried Mrs. Thrale, colouring with pleas- 
ure; " do you think so too? " 

" Yes, indeed; I thought so while I was reading 
it; it struck me repeatedly." 

" Don't look at me, Miss Burney," cried Mrs. 
Thrale, " for this is no doing of mine. Well, I do 
wonder what Miss Burney will do twenty years hence, 
when she can blush no more; for now she can never 
bear the name of her book." 

Mr. Murphy. — Nay, I name no book; at least no 
author: how can I, for I don't know the author; there 
is no name given to it : I only say, whoever wrote 
that book ought to write a comedy. Dr. Johnson 
might write it for aught I know. 

F. B.— Oh yes! 

Mr. Murphy. — Nay, I have often told him he does 
not know his own strength, or he would write a 
comedy; and so I think. 



106 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

Dr. Johnson (laughing). — Suppose Burney and I 
begin together. 

Mr. Murphy. — Ah, I wish you would! I wish 
you would Beaumont and Fletcher us ! 

F. B. — My father asked me, this morning, how my 
head stood. If he should have asked me this even- 
ing, I don't know what answer I must have made. 

Mr. Murphy. — I have no wish to turn anybody's 
head: I speak what I really think; — comedy is the 
forte of that book. I laughed over it most violently : 
and if the author — I won't say who (all the time 
looking away from me) — will write a comedy, I will 
most readily, and with great pleasure, give any advice 
or assistance in my power. 

" Well, now you are a sweet man ! " cried Mrs. 
Thrale, who looked ready to kiss him. " Did not I 
tell you, Miss Burney, that Mr. Murphy was the 
man?" 

Mr. Murphy. — All I can do, I shall be very happy 
to do ; and at least, I will undertake to say I can tell 
what the sovereigns of the upper gallery will bear; 
for they are the most formidable part of an audience. 
I have had so much experience in this sort of work, 
that I believe I can always tell what will be hissed 
at least. And if Miss Burney will write, and will 
show me 

Dr. Johnson. — Come, come, have done with this 
now; why should you overpower her? Let's have no 
more of it. I don't mean to* dissent from what you 
say; I think well of it, and approve of it; but you 
have said enough of it. 



1779] Miss Burney's Silence 107 

Mr. Murphy, who equally loves and reverences 
Dr. Johnson, instantly changed the subject. 

The rest of the evening was delightful. Mr. 
Murphy told abundance of most excellent stories; 
Dr. Johnson was in exceeding good humour; and 
Mrs. Thrale all cheerfulness and sweetness. 

For my part, in spite of her injunctions, I could 
not speak; I was in a kind of consternation. Mr. 
Murphy's speeches flattering as they were, made me 
tremble ; for I cannot get out of my head the idea of 
disgracing so many people. 1 

After supper, Dr. Johnson turned the discourse 
upon silent folks — whether by way of reflection and 
reproof, or by accident, I know not; but I do know 
he is provoked with me for not talking more; and I 
was afraid he was seriously provoked; but, a little 
while ago, I went into the music-room, where he was 
tete-a-tete with Mrs. Thrale, and calling me to him, 
he took my hand, and made me sit next him, in a 
manner that seemed truly affectionate. 

" Sir," cried I, " I was much afraid I was going 
out of your favour! " 

11 Why so? what should make you think so? " 

" Why, I don't know — my silence, I believe. I 
began to fear you would give me up." 

" No, my darling ! — my dear little Burney, no. 
When I give you up " 

" What then, sir? " cried Mrs. Thrale. 

" Why, I don't know; for whoever could give her 

1 Could a better explanation be given for her failure with The 

Witlings? 



108 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

up would deserve worse than I can say; I know not 
what would be bad enough." 

Yesterday, at night, I told Dr. Johnson the in- 
quiry, 1 and added that I attributed it to my being at 
Streatham, and supposed the folks took it for granted 
nobody would be admitted there without knowing 
Latin, at least. 

" No, my dear, no," answered he; " the man 
thought it because you have written a book — he con- 
cluded that a book could not be written by one who 
knew no Latin. And it is strange that it should — but, 
perhaps you do know it — for your shyness, and sly- 
ness, and pretending to know nothing, never took me 
in, whatever you may do with others. I always knew 
you for a toadling." 

At our usual time of absconding, he would not let 
us go, 2 and was in high good humour; and when, at 
last, Mrs. Thrale absolutely refused to stay any 
longer, he took me by the hand and said, 

" Don't you mind her, my little Burney; do you 
stay whether she will or not." 

So away went Mrs. Thrale, and left us to a tete-a- 
tete. 

Now I had been considering that perhaps I ought 
to speak to him of my new castle, lest hereafter he 
should suspect that I preferred the counsel of Mr. 
Murphy. I therefore determined to take this oppor- 



*A gentleman had asked her whether she knew Latin. (Diary, 
1.207.) 

2 Cf. p. 29. 






I 779] Johnson Gives Advice 109 

tunity, and after some general nothings, I asked if he 
would permit me to take a liberty with him? 

He assented with the most encouraging smile,. 
And then I said, 

" I believe, sir, you heard part of what passed 
between Mr. Murphy and me the other evening, 
concerning — a — a comedy. Now, if I should make 
such an attempt, would you be so good as to allow 
me, any time before Michaelmas, to put it in the 
coach, for you to look over as you go to town? " 

" To be sure, my dear! — What, have you begun a 
comedy, then? " 

I told him how the affair stood. He then gave 
me advice which just accorded with my own wishes, 
viz., not to make known that I had any such intention ; 
to keep my own counsel; not to whisper even the 
name of it; to raise no expectations, which were al- 
ways prejudicial, and finally to have it performed 
while the town knew nothing of whose it was. 

I readily reassured him of my hearty concurrence 
in his opinion; but he somewhat distressed me when 
I told him that Mr. Murphy must be in my con- 
fidence, as he had offered his services, by desiring he 
might be the last to see it. 

What I shall do, I know not, for he has, himself, 
begged to be the first. Mrs. Thrale, however, shall 
guide me between them. He spoke highly of Mr. 
Murphy, too, for he really loves him. He said he 
would not have it in the coach, but that I should read 
it to him; however, I could sooner drown or hang! 

When I would have offered some apology for the 



no Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

attempt, he stopped me, and desired I would never 
make any. 

" For," said he, " if it succeeds, it makes its own 
apology, if not " 

" If not," quoth I, " I cannot do worse than Dr. 
Goldsmith, when his play failed, — go home and 
cry!" 1 

He laughed, but told me repeatedly (I mean twice, 
which, for him, is very remarkable) that I might 
depend upon all the service in his power; and, he 
added, it would be well to make Murphy the last 
judge, " for he knows the stage," he said, " and I 
am quite ignorant of it." 

Afterwards, grasping my hand with the most affec- 
tionate warmth, he said, 

" I wish you success ! I wish you well ! my dear 
little Burney ! " 

When, at length, I told him I could stay no longer, 
and bid him good night, he said, " There is none like 
you, my dear little Burney ! there is none like you ! — 
good-night, my darling! "... 

I forgot to mention that, when I told Dr. Johnson 
Mr. Murphy's kind offer of examining my plan, and 
the several rules he gave me, and owned that I had 
already gone too far to avail myself of his obliging 
intention, he said, " Never mind, my dear, — ah ! you'll 
do without, — you want no rules ! " 

And now I cannot resist telling you of a dispute 
which Dr. Johnson had with Mrs. Thrale, the next 

1 See Mme. Piozzi's 'Anecdotes,' Miscellanies, 1.311. 



1779] Progress of Women in Literature in 

morning, 1 concerning me, which that sweet woman 
had the honesty and good sense to tell me. Dr. 
Johnson was talking to her and Sir Philip Jennings 2 
of the amazing progress made of late years in litera- 
ture by the women. He said he was himself aston- 
ished at it, and told them he well remembered when 
a woman who could spell a common letter was re- 
garded as all accomplished; but now they vied with 
the men in everything. 

" I think, sir," said my friend Sir Philip, " the 
young lady we have here is a very extraordinary 
proof of what you say." 

" So extraordinary, sir," answered he, " that I 
know none like her, — nor do I believe there is, or 
there ever was, a man who could write such a book so 
young." 

They both stared — no wonder, I am sure ! — and Sir 
Philip said, 

" What do you think of Pope, sir? could not Pope 
have written such a one? " 

" Nay, nay," cried Mrs. Thrale, " there is no 
need to talk of Pope; a book may be a clever book, 
and an extraordinary book, and yet not want a Pope 
for its author. I suppose he was no older than 
Miss Burney when he wrote Windsor Forest; 3 
and I suppose Windsor Forest is equal to 
Evelina! '" 



1 Jxme 24. 

2 Sir Philip Clerke; see above, p. 99. 

3 Pope began the composition of Windsor Forest at sixteen, and 
completed it at twenty-five; Miss Burney wrote Evelina at twenty- 
five. 



ii2 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

" Windsor Forest" repeated Dr. Johnson, 
" though so delightful a poem, by no means required 
the knowledge of life and manners, nor the accuracy 
of observation, nor the skill of penetration, necessary 
for composing such a work as Evelina); he who could 
ever write Windsor Forest, might as well write it 
young or old. Poetical abilities require not age to 
mature them; but Evelina seems a work that should 
result from long experience, and deep and intimate 
knowledge of the world ; yet it has been written with- 
out either. Miss Burney is a real wonder. What she 
is, she is intuitively. Dr. Burney told me she had 
had the fewest advantages of any of his daughters, 
from some peculiar circumstances. 1 And such has 
been her timidity, that he himself had not any sus- 
picion of her powers." 

" Her modesty," said Mrs. Thrale (as she told 
me), " is really beyond bounds. It quite provokes 
me. And, in fact, I can never make out how the 
mind that could write that book could be ignorant of 
its value." 

1 These " peculiar circumstances " appear to have been simply 
Fanny's extreme shyness and her father's extreme carelessness. 
" At the age of eight she had not learned to read, and her sailor 
brother used often to divert himself by giving her a book upside 
down in order to see what she would make of it. Mrs. Burney's 
friends used to call her the 'little dunce.'" (Dobson's Fanny 
Burney, n.) Dr. Burney placed two of his daughters at school 
in Paris during Fanny's girlhood, but Fanny is said to have been 
left at home for fear that she might turn Roman Catholic in Paris. 
When she was fifteen, her father again considered the plan of 
sending her away to school, but " the project, first postponed, was 
afterwards abandoned in consequence of Mr. Burney's second 
marriage." (Dobson, p. 7.) Fanny's education, therefore, was al- 
most entirely derived from undirected private reading and from 
observation of such members of the " great world " as she chanced 
to meet. 



1779] Fanny's Modesty 113 

" That, madam, is another wonder," answered my 
dear, dear Dr. Johnson, " for modesty with her is 
neither pretence nor decorum; 'tis an ingredient of 
her nature ; for she who could part with such a work 
for twenty pounds, could know so little of its worth, 
or of her own, as to leave no possible doubt of her 
humility." 

My kind Mrs. Thrale told me this with a pleasure 
that made me embrace her with gratitude; but the 
astonishment of Sir Philip Clerke at such an eloge 
from Dr. Johnson was quite, she says, comical. 

Streatham, July 5. — I have hardly had any power 
to write, my dear Susy, since I left you, for my cold 
has increased so much that I have hardly been able 
to do anything. 

Mr. Thrale, I think, is better, and he was cheer- 
ful all the ride. Mrs. Thrale made as much of me 
as if the two days had been two months. 

I was heartily glad to see Dr. Johnson, and I be- 
lieve he was not sorry to see me : he had inquired very 
much after me, and very particularly of Mrs. Thrale 
whether she loved me as well as she used to do. 

He is better in health than I have ever seen him 
before; his journey * has been very serviceable to him, 
and he has taken a very good resolution to reform 
his diet; 2 — so has my daddy Crisp. I wish I could 

1 To Ashbourne and Lichfield. (See Life, 3. 395, note.) 

2 On August 3, he wrote to Dr. Taylor, " Since my return hither 
I have applied myself very diligently to the care of my health. 
My nights grew better at your house, and have never since been 
bad; ... of the last fifty days I have . . . lived with much 
less animal food than has been my custom of late." {Letters, 

2. IOI.) 



114 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

pit them one against the other, and see the effect of 
their emulation. 

I wished twenty times to have transmitted to paper 
the conversation of the evening, for Dr. Johnson 
was as brilliant as I have ever known him — and that's 
saying something; — but I was not very well, and 
could only attend to him for present entertainment. 

July 10. — Since I wrote last, I have been far from 
well — but I am now my own man again — a peu-pres. 

Very concise, indeed, must my journal grow, for I 
have now hardly a moment in my power to give it; 
however, I will keep up its chain, and mark, from 
time to time, the general course of things. 

Sir Philip Jennings * has spent three days here, at 
the close of which he took leave of us for the sum- 
mer, and set out for his seat in Hampshire. We were 
all sorry to lose him; he is a most comfortable man 
in society, for he is always the same — easy, good- 
humoured, agreeable, and well-bred. He has made 
himself a favourite to the whole house, Dr. Johnson 
included, who almost always prefers the company 
of an intelligent man of the world to that of a 
scholar. 

July 20. — What a vile journalist do I grow! — it 
is, however, all I can do to keep it at all going; for, 
to let you a little into the nature of things, you must 
know that my studies occupy almost every moment 
that I spend by myself. Dr. Johnson gives us a Latin 
lesson every morning. I pique myself somewhat upon 

1 See above, pp. 99, hi. 



I 779] Johnson Teaches Latin 115 

being ready for him ; so that really, when the copying 
my play, and the continual returning occurrences of 
every fresh day are considered, you will not wonder 
that I should find so little opportunity for scrawling 
letters. 

What progress we may make in this most learned 
scheme I know not; but, as I have always told you, 
I am sure I fag more for fear of disgrace than for 
hope of profit. To devote so much time to acquire 
something I shall always dread to have known, is 
really unpleasant enough, considering how many 
things there are I might employ myself in that would 
have no such drawback. However, on the other side, 
I am both pleased and flattered that Dr. Johnson 
should think me worth inviting to be his pupil, and 
I shall always recollect with pride and with pleasure 
the instructions he has the goodness to give me; so*, 
since I cannot without dishonour alter matters, 'tis as 
well to turn Frenchwoman, and take them in the 
tant mieux fashion. 

Dr. Johnson has made resolutions exactly similar 
to yours, 1 and in general adheres to them with strict- 
ness, but the old Adam, as you say, stands in his way, 
as well as in his neighbours'. I wish I could pit you 
against each other for the sake of both. Yet he pro- 
fesses an aversion to you, because he says he is sure 
you are very much in his way with me! however, I 
believe you would neither of you retain much aver- 
sion if you had a fair meeting. 

^his is an extract from a letter to Mr. Crisp dated July 30. 
The resolution was to reform his diet. 



n6 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1780 

Do you know I have been writing to Dr. Johnson ! 
I tremble to mention it; but he sent a message in a 
letter to Mrs. Thrale, to wonder why his pupils did 
not write to him, 1 and to hope they did not forget 
him: Miss Thrale, therefore, wrote a letter immedi- 
ately, and I added only this little postscript: 

" P.S. — Dr. Johnson's other pupil a little longs 
to add a few lines to this letter, — but knows too well 
that all she has to say might be comprised in signing 
herself his obliged and most obedient servant, F. B. : 
so that's better than a long rigmarole about nothing." 

Thursday morning, April 13th. — I am now come 
to the present time, and will try, however brief, to 
be tolerably punctual. 

Dr. Johnson has sent a bitter reproach to Mrs. 
Thrale of my not writing to him, 2 for he has not yet 
received a scrawl I have sent him. He says Dr. 
Barnard, the provost of Eton, has been singing the 
praises of my book, and that old Dr. Lawrence has 
read it through three times within this last month! 



1 In a letter to Mrs. Thrale dated October 28, Johnson says, 
" The two younglings, what hinders them from writing to me. I 
hope they do not forget me." (Letters, 2. 116.) 

2 In a letter to Mrs. Thrale dated April 11, Johnson says, 
" Queeney has been a good girl, and wrote me a letter; if Burney 
told you she would write, she told you a fib. She writes nothing 
to me. She can write home fast enough. I have a good mind not 
to let her know that Dr. Bernard, to whom I had recommended 
her novel, speaks of it with great recommendation; and that 
the copy which she lent me, has been read by Dr. Lawrence three 
times over. And yet what a gypsey it is. She no more minds me 
than if I were a Brangton. Pray speak to Queeney to write 
again." (Letters, 2. 136-137.) Dr. Lawrence was Johnson's 
physician. 



1780] Johnson Rises Early 117 

I am afraid he will pass for being superannuated for 
his pains! 

" But don't tell Burney this," adds Dr. Johnson, 
" because she will not write to me, and values me 
no more than if I were a Branghton ! " 

Bath, May 28. ... I found my dear Mrs. 
Thrale so involved in business, electioneering, 1 can- 
vassing, and letter-writing, that after our first em- 
brassades, we hardly exchanged a word till we got 
into the chaise next morning. 

Dr. Johnson, however, who was with her, received 
me even joyfully; and, making me sit by him, began 
a gay and spirited conversation, which he kept up till 
we parted, though in the midst of all this bustle. 

The next morning we rose at four o'clock, and 
when we came downstairs, to our great surprise, 
found Dr. Johnson waiting to receive and breakfast 
with us; though the night before he had taken leave 
of us, and given me the most cordial and warm as- 
surances of the love he has for me, which I do indeed 
believe to be as sincere as I can wish; and I failed 
not to tell him the affectionate respect with which I 
return it; though, as well as I remember, we never 
came to this open declaration before. 

We therefore drank our coffee with him, and then 
he handed us both into the chaise. He meant to 
have followed us to Bath, but Mrs. Thrale discour- 



*Mr. Thrale was then engaged in canvassing for his re-election 
as M.P. for Southwark ; in which work he was assisted not only by 
his wife, but by Johnson himself. 



n8 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1780 

aged him, from a firm persuasion that he would be 
soon very horribly wearied of a Bath life : 1 an opin- 
ion in which I heartily join. 

I have not seen Dr. Johnson since the day you 
left me, 2 when he came hither, and met Mrs. Ord, 
Mr. Hoole, Mrs. Reynolds, Baretti, the Paradises, 
Pepys, Castles, Dr. Dunbar, 3 and some others; and 
then he was in high spirits and good humour, talked 
all the talk, affronted nobody, and delighted every- 
body. I never saw him more sweet, nor better at- 
tended to by his audience. I have not been able to 
wait upon him since, nor, indeed, upon anybody, for 
we have not spent one evening alone since my return. 

Since I wrote last I have drunk tea with Dr. John- 
son. 4 My father took me to Bolt Court, and we 
found him, most fortunately, with only one brass- 
headed cane gentleman. Since that, I have had the 
pleasure to meet him again at Mrs. Reynolds's, when 
he offered to take me with him to Grub Street, 5 to see 
the ruins of the house demolished there in the late 
riots, 6 by a mob that, as he observed, could be no 
friend to the Muses ! He inquired if I had ever yet 

1 He therefore went up to his lodgings in Bolt-Court, Fleet Street. 

2 Miss Burney writes from London to Mrs. Thrale, July 8. 

8 All these people, except the Castles, appear passim in the Life. 
Johnson mentions the same list in a letter to Mrs. Thrale, dated 
July 4, and adds, " And Pepys and I had all the talk." (Letters, 
2.183.) Cf. below, pp. 124 ff. 

4 From another letter to Mrs. Thrale. 

c Now Milton Street. 

6 For Johnson's own description of the Gordon Riots, see Life, 
3. 428 ff. 



1780] Grub Street 119 

visited Grub Street? but was obliged to restrain his 
anger when I answered " No/' because he acknowl- 
edged that he had never paid his respects to it him- 
self. " However," says he, " you and I, Burney, 
will go together; we have a very good right to go, 
so we'll visit the mansions of our progenitors, and 
take up our own freedom together." 

Well — mat a propos to all this 1 — Dr. Johnson, 
who expects nothing but what is good, and swallows 
nothing but what he likes, has delighted me with an- 
other volume of his Lives, 2 — that which contains 
Blackmore, Congreve, etc., which he tells me you have 
had ! Oh what a writer he is ! what instruction, spirit, 
intelligence, and vigour in almost every paragraph! 
Addison I think equal to any in the former batch ; but 
he is rather too hard upon Prior, and makes Gay, I 
think, too insignificant. Some of the little poems of 
Prior seem to me as charming as any little poems 
can be ; and Gay's pastorals I had hoped to have seen 
praised more liberally. 3 

Dr. Johnson, you know, came with my dear father 
the Thursday after our return. 4 

You cannot, I think, have been surprised that I 



1 From a letter to Mrs. Thrale, August 16. 

2 Bound proof-sheets, no doubt, for the books had not yet been 
published. 

8 " A Pastoral of an hundred lines may be endured ; but who 
will hear of sheep and goats and myrtle bowers and purling 
rivulets, through five acts? Such scenes please barbarians in the 
dawn of literature, and children in the dawn of life." (Life of 
Gay.) 

4 From the Journal, December 6. 



120 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1780-81 

gave up my plan of going to town immediately: in- 
deed I had no heart to leave either Mr. Thrale in 
a state so precarious, 1 or his dear wife in an agitation 
of mind hardly short of a fever. 

Things now went on tolerably smooth, and Miss 
Thrale and I renewed our Latin exercises with Dr. 
Johnson, and with great eclat of praise. At another 
time I could have written much of him and of Mr. 
Seward, for many very good conversations past; but 
now I have almost forgot all about them. 

Dr. Johnson is very gay and sociable 2 and com- 
fortable, and quite as kind to me as ever; and says the 
Bodleian librarian has but done his duty, 3 and that 
when he goes to Oxford, he will write my name in 
the books, my age when I writ them, and sign the 
whole with his own; " and then," he says, " the world 
may know that we 

* So mixed our studies, and so joined our fame ' 

For we shall go down hand in hand to posterity ! " 

Mrs. Thrale, in cutting some fruit, had cut her 
finger, and asked me for some black sticking plaster, 
and as I gave it her out of my pocket-book, she was 
struck with the beautiful glossiness of the paper of 



1 Mr. Thrale, far from well when the journey had commenced, 
was taken seriously ill during its progress. 

2 From a letter to Dr. Burney, December u. 

8 The Bodleian librarian had placed Evelina in his noble li- 
brary, to the author's astonished delight. — Note by F. B. 






178 1 ] Johnson Reads Fanny's Letter 121 

a letter which peeped out of it, and rather waggishly 
asked me who wrote to me with so much elegant 
attention ? 

" Mrs. Gast," answered I. 

" Oh," cried she, " do pray then let me see her 
hand." 

I showed it her, and she admired it very justly, 
and said, 

" Do show it to Mr. Crutchley; 'tis a mighty gen- 
teel hand indeed." 

I complied, but took it from him as soon as he had 
looked at it. Indeed, he is the last man in the world 
to have even desired to read any letter not to himself. 

Dr. Johnson now, who, too deaf to hear what 
was saying, wondered what we were thus handling 
about, asked an explanation. 

" Why, we are all," said Mrs. Thrale, " admiring 
the hand of Fanny's Mr. Crisp's sister." 

" And mayn't I admire it too? " cried he. 

" Oh yes," said she; " show it him, Burney." 

I put it in his hand, and he instantly opened and 
began reading it. Now though there was nothing in it 
but what must reflect honour upon Mrs. Gast, she 
had charged me not to show it; and, also, it was so 
very flattering to me, that I was quite consternated 
at this proceeding, and called out, 

" Sir, it was only to show you the handwriting, 
and you have seen enough for that." 

" I shall know best myself," answered he, laugh- 
ing, " when I have seen enough." 

And he read on. The truth is I am sure he took 



122 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [178 1 

it for granted they had all read it, for he had not 
heard a word that had passed. 

I then gave Mrs. Thrale a reproachful glance for 
what she had done, and she jumped up, and calling 
out, 

" So I have done mischief, I see ! " and ran out of 
the room, followed by Queeny. I stayed hovering 
over the doctor to recover my property . . . 

Here Dr. Johnson returned me my letter, with 
very warm praise of its contents. Mrs. Gast would 
not only have forgiven me, but have been much de- 
lighted had she heard his approbation of all she 
had written to me. 

Streatham } June. — I found Dr. Johnson in admi- 
rable good humour, and our journey hither was ex- 
tremely pleasant. I thanked him for the last batch of 
his poets, 1 and we talked them over almost all the 
way. 

Sweet Mrs. Thrale received me with her wonted 
warmth of affection, but shocked me by her own 
ill looks, 2 and the increasing alteration in her 
person, which perpetual anxiety and worry have 
made. . . . 

We had a good cheerful day, and in the evening 
Sir Richard Jebb came; and nothing can I recollect, 
but that Dr. Johnson forced me to sit on a very small 
sofa with him, which was hardly large enough for 
himself; and which would have made a subject for a 

1 See p. 119. 

2 Mr. Thrale had died in April. (See Diary, 1.468 ff.) 



178 1 ] Insurrection Among the Wits 123 

print by Harry Bunbury 1 that would have diverted 
all London: ergo, it rejoiceth me that he was not 
present. 

Wednesday. — We had a terrible noisy day. Mr. 
and Mrs. Cator came to dinner, and brought with 
them Miss Collison, a niece. Mrs. Nesbitt was also 
here, and Mr. Pepys. 

The long war which has been proclaimed among 
the wits concerning Lord Lyttelton's Life, 2 by Dr. 
Johnson, and which a whole tribe of blues, with Mrs. 
Montagu, at their head, have vowed to execrate and 
revenge, now broke out with all the fury of the first 
actual hostilities, stimulated by long-concerted 
schemes and much spiteful information. Mr. Pepys, 
Dr. Johnson well knew, was one of Mrs. Montagu's 
steadiest abettors; and, therefore, as he had some 
time determined to defend himself with the first of 

x The artist and caricaturist. Miss Burney later became well 
acquainted with him, though she had not yet met him. (Diary, 

3. 303 ff., 323 ff.) 

2 The life of Lord Lyttelton (1709-1773) is the last of the series 
of Johnson's Lives of the Poets. It was unwillingly undertaken 
by Johnson, who would have preferred to have it done by one of 
his Lordship's friends; but it is not therefore either prejudiced or 
unusually severe. To a modern reader the author will perhaps 
seem to err on the side of indulgence. Of Lyttelton's works he says: 
" Lord Lyttelton's Poems are the works of a man of literature 
and judgment, devoting part of his time to versification. They 
have nothing to be despised, and little to be admired. Of his 
Progress of Love, it is sufficient blame to say that it is pastoral. 
His blank verse in Blenheim has neither much force nor much 
elegance. His little performances . . . are sometimes spritely, 
and sometimes insipid." 

Boswell says of this that it " produced a declaration of war 
from Mrs. Montagu . . . between whom and his Lordship a com- 
merce of reciprocal compliments had been carried on." {Life, 

4. 64.) 



124 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

them he met, this day he fell the sacrifice to his 
wrath. 

In a long tete-a-tete which I accidentally had with 
Mr. Pepys before the company was assembled, he told 
me his apprehensions of an attack, and entreated me 
earnestly to endeavour to prevent it; modestly avow- 
ing he was no antagonist for Dr. Johnson; and yet 
declaring his personal friendship for Lord Lyttelton 
made him so much hurt by the Life, that he feared he 
could not discuss the matter without a quarrel, which, 
especially in the house of Mrs. Thrale, he wished to 
avoid. 

It was, however, utterly impossible for me to serve 
him. I could have stopped Mrs. Thrale, with ease, 
and Mr. Seward with a hint, had either of them 
begun the subject; but, unfortunately, in the middle of 
dinner it was begun by Dr. Johnson himself, to op- 
pose whom, especially as he spoke with great anger, 
would have been madness and folly. 

Never before have I seen Dr. Johnson speak with 
so much passion. 

" Mr. Pepys," he cried, in a voice the most en- 
raged, " I understand you are offended by my Life 
of Lord Lyttelton. What is it you have to say 
against it? Come forth, man! Here am I, ready to 
answer any charge you can bring! " 

"No, sir," cried Mr. Pepys, " not at present; I 
must beg leave to decline the subject. I told Miss 
Burney before dinner that I hoped it would not be 
started." 

I was quite frightened to hear my own name men- 




A caricature of Johnson, published soon after the Lives of 

the Poets 



1 781] Johnson's Quarrel with Pepys 125 

tioned in a debate which began so seriously; but Dr. 
Johnson made not to this any answer; he repeated 
his attack and his challenge, and a violent disputation 
ensued, in which this great but mortal man did, to 
own the truth, appear unreasonably furious and 
grossly severe. I never saw him so before, and I 
heartily hope I never shall again. He has been long 
provoked, and justly enough, at the sneaking com- 
plaints and murmurs of the Lytteltonians ; and, there- 
fore, his long-excited wrath, which hitherto had met 
no object, now burst forth with a vehemence and bit- 
terness almost incredible. 

Mr. Pepys meantime never appeared to so much 
advantage; he preserved his temper, uttered all that 
belonged merely to himself with modesty, and all that 
more immediately related to Lord Lyttelton with 
spirit. Indeed, Dr. Johnson, in the very midst of the 
dispute, had the candour and liberality to make him 
a personal compliment by saying, 

" Sir, all that you say, while you are vindicating 
one who cannot thank you, makes me only think better 
of you than I ever did before. Yet still I think you 
do me wrong," etc., etc. 

Some time after, in the heat of the argument, he 
called out, 

11 The more my Lord Lyttelton is inquired after, 
the worse he will appear; Mr. Seward has just heard 
two stories of him, which corroborate all I have 
related." 

He then desired Mr. Seward to repeat them. Poor 
Mr. Seward looked almost as frightened as myself 



126 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

at the very mention of his name; but he quietly and 
immediately told the stories, which consisted of fresh 
instances, from good authorities, of Lord Lyttelton's 
illiberal behaviour to Shenstone ; * and then he flung 
himself back in his chair and spoke no more during 
the whole debate, which I am sure he was ready to 
vote a bore. 

One happy circumstance, however, attended the 
quarrel, which was the presence of Mr. Cator, who 
would by no means be prevented talking himself, 
either by reverence for Dr. Johnson, or ignorance of 
the subject in question; on the contrary, he gave his 
opinion, quite uncalled, upon everything that was said 
by either party, and that with an importance and 
pomposity, yet with an emptiness and verbosity, that 
rendered the whole dispute, when in his hands, noth- 
ing more than ridiculous, and compelled even the 
disputants themselves, all inflamed as they were, to 
laugh. To give a specimen — one speech will do for 
a thousand. 

" As to this here question of Lord Lyttelton, I 
can't speak to it to the purpose, as I have not read his 
Life, for I have only read the Life of Pope; I have 
got the books though, for I sent for them last week, 
and they came to me on Wednesday, and then I began 
them ; but I have not yet read Lord Lyttelton. Pope 
I have begun, and that is what I am now reading. 
But what I have to say about Lord Lyttelton is this 
here : Mr. Seward says that Lord Lyttelton's steward 

1 The instances given by Johnson are not in the Life of Lyttelton 
but in the Life of Shenstone. (Hill's edition, 3. 351.) 






178 1] Johnson's Quarrel with Pepys 127 

dunned Mr. Shenstone for his rent, by which I under- 
stand he was a tenant of Lord Lyttelton's. Well, if 
he was a tenant of Lord Lyttelton's, why should not 
he pay his rent? " 

Who could contradict this? 

When dinner was quite over, and we left the men 
to their wine, we hoped they would finish the affair; 
but Dr. Johnson was determined to talk it through, 
and make a battle of it, though Mr. Pepys tried to 
be off continually. When they were all summoned to 
tea, they entered still warm and violent. Mr. Cator 
had the book in his hand, and was reading the Life 
of Lyttelton, that he might better, he said, under- 
stand the cause, though not a creature cared if he 
had never heard of it. 

Mr. Pepys came up to me and said, 

" Just what I had so much wished to avoid! I 
have been crushed in the very onset." 

I could make him no answer for Dr. Johnson im- 
mediately called him off, and harangued and attacked 
him with a vehemence and continuity that quite con- 
cerned both Mrs. Thrale and myself, and that made 
Mr. Pepys, at last, resolutely silent, however called 
upon. 

This now grew more unpleasant than ever; till Mr. 
Cator, having some time studied his book, exclaimed, 

" What I am now going to say, as I have not yet 
read the Life of Lord Lyttelton quite through, must 
be considered as being only said aside, because what I 
am going to say " 

" I wish, sir," cried Mrs. Thrale, " it had been all 



128 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

set aside; here is too much about it, indeed, and I 
should be very glad to hear no more of it." 

This speech, which she made with great spirit and 
dignity, had an admirable effect. Everybody was 
silenced. Mr. Cator, thus interrupted in the midst of 
his proposition, looked quite amazed; Mr. Pepys was 
much gratified by the interference; and Dr. Johnson, 
after a pause, said, 

" Well, madam, you shall hear no more about it; 
yet I will defend myself in every part and in every 
atom! " 

And from this time the subject was wholly dropped. 
This dear violent Doctor was conscious he had been 
wrong, and therefore he most candidly bore the re-. 
proof. 

Mr. Cator, after some evident chagrin at having 
his speech thus rejected, comforted himself by com- 
ing up to Mr. Seward, who was seated next me, to 
talk to him of the changes of the climates from hot 
to could in the countries he had visited; and he prated 
so much, yet said so little, and pronounced his words 
so vulgarly, that I found it impossible to keep my 
countenance, and was once, when most unfortunately 
he addressed himself to me, surprised by him on the 
full grin. To soften it off as well as I could, I pre- 
tended unusual complacency, and instead of recover- 
ing my gravity, I continued a most ineffable smile 
for the whole time he talked, which was indeed no 
difficult task. Poor Mr. Seward was as much off 
his guard as myself, having his mouth distended to its 
fullest extent every other minute. 



178 1 ] Mrs. Thrale Rebukes Johnson 129 

When the leave-taking time arrived, Dr. Johnson 
called to Mr. Pepys to shake hands, an invitation 
which was most coldly and forcibly accepted. Mr. 
Cator made a point of Mrs. Thrale's dining at his 
house soon, and she could not be wholly excused, as 
she had many transactions with him; but she fixed the 
day for three weeks hence. They have invited me so 
often, that I have now promised not to fail making 
one. 

Thursday morning. — Dr. Johnson went to town 
for some days, but not before Mrs. Thrale read him 
a very serious lecture upon giving way to such vio- 
lence; which he bore with a patience and quietness 
that even more than made his peace with me; for such 
a man's confessing himself wrong is almost more 
amiable that another being steadily right. 

Wednesday, June 26. — Dr. Johnson, who had been 
in town some days, returned, and Mr. Crutchley came 
also, as well as my father. I did not see the two 
latter till summoned to dinner; and then Dr. John- 
son seizing my hand, while with one of his own he 
gave me a no very gentle tap on the shoulder, half 
drolly and half reproachfully called out, 

" Ah, you little baggage, you ! and have you known 
how long I have been here, and never to come to 
me?" 

And the truth is, in whatever sportive mode he ex- 
presses it, he really likes not I should be absent from 
him half a minute whenever he is here, and not in his 
own apartment. . . . 



130 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

Dr. Johnson, as usual when here, kept me in chat 
with him in the library after all the rest had dis- 
persed; but when Mr. Crutchley returned again, he 
went upstairs. 

Friday. 1 — The moment breakfast was over, Mr. 
Crutchley arose, and was taking leave; but Mrs. 
Thrale told him, with an arch laugh, he had better 
stay, for he would not get mended by going. He 
protested, however, that he must certainly go home. 

" And why? " cried she; " what do you go for? " 

11 Nay," cried he, hesitating, " I don't know, I am 
sure!" 

"Never mind him, madam," cried Dr. Johnson; 
" a man who knows not why he goes, knows not why 
he stays; therefore never heed him." 

" Does anybody expect you?" said Mrs. Thrale. 
" Do you want to see anybody? " 

" Not a soul!" 

" Then why can't you stay? " 

"No; I can't stay now; I'll meet you on Tues- 
day." 

"If you know so little why you should either go 
or stay," said Dr Johnson, " never think about it, sir; 
toss up — that's the shortest way. Heads or tails ! — 
let that decide." 

" No, no, sir," answered he; " this is but talk, for 
I cannot reduce it to that mere difference in my own 
mind." 

" What ! must you go, then? " said Mrs. Thrale. 

x June 28. 



178 1 ] Johnson Mourns for Mr. Thrale 131 

" I must go," returned he, " upon a system of 
economy." 

" What! to save your horses coming again? " 

" No ; but that I may not weary my friends quite 
out." 

" Oh, your friends are the best judges for them- 
selves," said Mrs. Thrale; "do you think you can 
go anywhere that your company will be more de- 
sired?" 

" Nay, nay," cried Dr. Johnson, " after such an 
excuse as that, your friends have a right to practise 
Irish hospitality, and lock up your bridle." 

The matter was still undecided when Mrs. Thrale 
called him to walk out with her. . . . 

At dinner, accordingly, he returned, and is now to 
stay till Tuesday. . . . 

I have very often, though I mention them not, 
long and melancholy discourses with Dr. Johnson, 
about our dear deceased master, whom, indeed, he 
regrets incessantly ; * but I love not to dwell on sub- 
jects of sorrow when I can drive them away, especially 
to you, upon this account, as you were so much a 
stranger to that excellent friend, whom you only 
lamented for the sake of those who survived him. 

At dinner 2 we had a large party of old friends of 
Mrs. Thrale. Lady Frances Burgoyne, a mighty 
erect old lady of the last age, lofty, ceremonious, stiff, 
and condescending. 

1 On April 5, he wrote to Mrs. Thrale, " No death since that of 
my wife has ever oppressed me like this." {Letters, 2. 209.) 

2 July 30. 



132 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [178 1 

Montague Burgoyne, her son, and as like any other 
son as ever you saw. 

Mrs. Burgoyne, his wife, a sweet, pretty, innocent, 
simple young girl, just married to him. 

Miss Burgoyne, his eldest sister, a good, sensible, 
prating old maid. 

Miss Kitty Burgoyne, a younger sister, equally 
prating, and not equally sensible. 

Mr. Ned Hervey, brother to the bride. 

To these were added Mr. Pepys and Sophy Streat- 
field ; the former as entertaining, the latter as beauti- 
ful, as ever. We had a very good day, but not of a 
writing sort. 

Dr. Johnson, whom I had not seen since his Sun- 
ninghill expedition, 1 as he only returned from town 
to-day, gave me almost all his attention, which made 
me of no little consequence to the Burgoynes, who 
all stared again when they saw him make up to me 
the moment I entered the room, and talk to me till 
summoned to dinner. 

Mr. Pepys had desired this meeting, by way of 
a sort of reconciliation after the Lyttelton quarrel; 
and Dr. Johnson now made amends for his former 
violence, as he advanced to him as soon as he came 
in, and holding out his hand to him, received him with 
a cordiality he had never shown him before. In- 
deed, he told me himself, that " he thought the 
better of Mr. Pepys for all that had passed." He 
is as great a souled man as a bodied one, and, were 

1 Johnson and Mrs. Thrale had been visiting Mr. Crutchley at 
his home, Sunninghill. {Diary, 2.22.) 



178 1 ] Mr. Musgrave 133 

he less furious in his passions, he would be demi- 
divine. 

Mr. Pepys also behaved extremely well, politely 
casting aside all reserve or coldness that might be at- 
tributed to a lurking ill-will for what had passed. 

Streatham. — My poor journal is now so in arrears, 
that I forget wholly the date of what I sent you last. 
I have, however, minutes by me of things, though 
not of times, and, therefore, the chronology not being 
very important, take them, my dear girls, promiscu- 
ously. I am still, I know, in August, et voila tout. 

We have now a new character added to our set, 
and one of no small diversion, — Mr. Musgrave, 1 an 
Irish gentleman of fortune, and member of the Irish 
Parliament. He is tall, thin, and agreeable in his face 
and figure ; is reckoned a good scholar, has travelled, 
and been very well educated. His manners are im- 
petuous and abrupt; his language is high-flown and 
hyperbolical; his sentiments are romantic and tender; 
his heart is warm and generous; his head hot and 
wrong ! And the whole of his conversation is a mix- 
ture the most uncommon, of knowledge and trite- 
ness, simplicity and fury, literature and folly ! 

Keep this character in your mind, and, contradic- 
tory as it seems, I will give you, from time to time, 
such specimens as shall remind you of each of these 
six epithets. 

He was introduced into this house by Mr. Seward, 

Afterwards Sir Richard. He appears once in Mrs. Piozzi's 
' Anecdotes,' Miscellanies, i. 342, but is not mentioned by name in 
the Life; cf., however, 4. 323, note. 



134 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

with whom, and Mr. Graves of Worcester, he trav- 
elled into Italy : and some years ago he was extremely 
intimate here. But, before my acquaintance was made 
at Streatham, he had returned to Ireland; where, 
about a year since, he married Miss Cavendish. 
They are now, by mutual consent, parted. She is 
gone to a sister in France, and he is come to spend 
some time in England by way of diverting his chagrin. 

Mrs. Thrale who, though open-eyed enough to his 
absurdities, thinks well of the goodness of his heart, 
has a real regard for him; and he quite adores her, 
and quite worships Dr. Johnson — frequently declar- 
ing (for what he once says, he says continually), that 
he would spill his blood for him, — or clean his shoes, 
— or go to the East Indies to do him any good! " I 
am never," says he, " afraid of him; none but a fool 
or a rogue has any need to be afraid of him. What 
a fine old lion (looking up at his picture) 1 he is! 
Oh ! I love him, — I honour him, — I reverence him ! 
I would black his shoes for him. I wish I could give 
him my night's sleep ! " 2 

These are exclamations which he is making con- 
tinually. Mrs. Thrale has extremely well said that 
he is a caricature of Mr. Boswell, 3 who is a caricature, 
I must add, of all other of Dr. Johnson's admirers. 



1 The well-known portrait by Reynolds, now in the National 
Gallery, then owned by Mrs. Thrale. 

2 He was at this time troubled with insomnia; see below, p. 142. 

3 Boswell has been mentioned but once before in the Diary 
(1.467); he was present at a dinner in Grosvenor Square which 
was also attended by Miss Burney and Dr. Johnson. Since Miss 
Burney always disliked him, her descriptions are to be taken 
cum grano salts. 



178 1 ] Musgrave a Hero-Worshiper 135 

The next great favourite he has in the world to 
our Doctor, and the person whom he talks next most 
of, is Mr. Jessop, who was his schoolmaster, and 
whose praise he is never tired of singing in terms the 
most vehement, — quoting his authority for every 
other thing he says, and lamenting our misfortune 
in not knowing him. 

His third favourite topic, at present, is The Life of 
Louis XV. in 4 vols. 8vo, lately translated from the 
French; and of this he is so extravagantly fond, that 
he talks of it as a man might talk of his mistress; 
provided he had so little wit as to talk of her 
at all. 

Painting, music, all the fine arts in their turn, he 
also speaks of in raptures. He is himself very ac- 
complished, plays the violin extremely well, is a very 
good linguist, and a very decent painter. But no sub- 
ject in his hands fails to be ridiculous, as he is sure, 
by the abruptness of its introduction, the strange turn 
of his expressions, or the Hibernian twang of his 
pronunciation, to make everything he says, however 
usual or common, seem peculiar and absurd. 

When he first came here, upon the present renewal 
of his acquaintance at Streatham, Mrs. Thrale sent 
a summons to her daughter and me to come down- 
stairs. We went together; I had long been curious 
to see him, and was glad of the opportunity. The 
moment Mrs. Thrale introduced me to him, he be- 
gan a warm eloge of my father, speaking so fast, so 
much, and so Irish, that I could hardly understand 
him. 



136 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

That over, he began upon this book, entreating 
Mrs. Thrale and all of us to read it, assuring us 
nothing could give us equal pleasure, minutely relat- 
ing all its principal incidents with vehement expres- 
sions of praise or abhorrence, according to the good 
or bad he mentioned; and telling us that he had de- 
voted three days and nights to making an index to 
it himself! 

Then he touched upon his dear schoolmaster, Mr. 
Jessop, and then opened upon Dr. Johnson, whom he 
calls " the old lion," and who lasted till we left him 
to dress. 

When we met again at dinner, and were joined by 
Dr. Johnson, the incense he paid him, by his solemn 
manner of listening, by the earnest reverence with 
which he eyed him, and by a theatric start of admira- 
tion every time he spoke, joined to the Doctor's 
utter insensibility to all these tokens, made me find 
infinite difficulty in keeping my countenance during 
the whole meal. His talk, too, is incessant; no 
female, however famed, can possibly excel him 
for volubility. 

He told us a thousand strange staring stories, of 
noble deeds of valour and tender proofs of constancy, 
interspersed with extraordinary, and indeed incredible 
accidents, and with jests, and jokes, and bon-mots, 
that I am sure must be in Joe Miller. 1 And in the 
midst of all this jargon he abruptly called out, " Pray, 

1 Joe Miller's Jests; or the Wit's Vade-Mecum. Being a Col- 
lection of the most Brilliant Jests; the Politest Repartees; the 
most Elegant Bon-Mots, and the most pleasant short Stories in the 
English Language . . . London, 1739. 



178 1 ] The American War 137 

Mrs. Thrale, what is the Doctor's opinion of the 
American war? " 

Opinion of the American war at this time of day! 1 
We all laughed cruelly; yet he repeated his question 
to the Doctor, who, however, made no other answer 
but by laughing too. But he is never affronted with 
Dr. Johnson, let him do what he will ; and he seldom 
ventures to speak to him till he has asked some other 
person present for advice how he will take such or 
such a question. 

We have had 2 some extra diversion from two queer 
letters. The first of these was to Dr. Johnson, dated 
from the Orkneys, and costing him is. 6d. The con- 
tents, were, to beg the Doctor's advice and counsel 
upon a very embarrassing matter; the writer, who 
signs his name and place of abode, says he is a clergy- 
man, and labours under a most peculiar misfortune, 
for which he can give no account ; and which is, — that 
though he very often writes letters to his friends and 
others, he never gets any answers ; he entreats, there- 
fore, that Dr. Johnson will take this into considera- 
tion, and explain to him to what so strange a thing 
may be attributed. 

He then gives his direction. 

The other of these curious letters is to my- 
self; it is written upon fine French-glazed and gilt 
paper. 



1 Johnson had expressed his opinion of the American situation 
with unfortunate fulness as early as 1775 in Taxation no Tyranny. 

2 August 27. 



138 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

"Miss F. Burney, 

" At Lady Thralls, 

u Streatham, Surrey. 

"Madam — I lately have read the three elegant 
volumes of Evelina, which were penned by you ; and 
am desired by my friends, which are very numerous, 
to entreat the favour of you to oblige the public with 
a fourth. 1 

" Now, if this desire of mine should meet with your 
approbation, and you will honour the public with an- 
other volume (for it will not be ill-bestowed time), it 
will greatly add to the happiness of, — Honoured 
madam, a sincere admirer of you and Evelina. 
"Snow Hill" 2 

Now don't our two epistles vie well with each other 
for singular absurdity? Which of them shows least 
meaning, who can tell? This is the third queer 
anonymous letter I have been favoured with. The 
date is more curious than the contents; one would 
think the people on Snow Hill might think three 
volumes enough for what they are the better, and 
not desire a fourth to celebrate more Smiths and 
Branghtons. 

At dinner, 3 Dr. Johnson returned, and Mr. Mus- 
grave came with him. I did not see them till dinner 
was upon the table; and then Dr. Johnson, more in 

1 Perhaps this ardent correspondent recalled Richardson's con- 
tinuation of Pamela. 

2 This address is perhaps taken from Evelina. 
8 September 3. 



178 1 ] Musgrave Marvels at Miss Burney 139 

earnest than in jest, reproached me with not coming 
to meet him, and afterwards with not speaking to 
him, which, by the way, across a large table, and be- 
fore company, I could not do, were I to be reproached 
ever so solemnly. It is requisite to speak so loud in 
order to be heard by him, and everybody listens so 
attentively for his reply, that not all his kindness 
will ever, I believe, embolden me to discourse with 
him willingly except tete-a-tete, or only with his 
family or my own. 

Mr. Crutchley, who has more odd spite in him 
than all the rest of the world put together, enjoyed 
this call upon me, at which Mr. Musgrave no less 
wondered! He seemed to think it an honour that 
raised me to the highest pinnacle of glory, and started, 
and lifted up his hands in profound admiration. 

This, you may imagine, was no great inducement 
to me to talk more; and when in the evening we all 
met again in the library, Dr. Johnson still continuing 
his accusation, and vowing I cared nothing for him, 
to get rid of the matter, and the grinning of Mr. 
Crutchley, and the theatrical staring of Mr. Mus- 
grave, I proposed to Miss Thrale, as soon as tea was 
over, a walk round the grounds. 

The next morning, the instant I entered the library 
at breakfast-time, where nobody was yet assembled 
but Messrs. Musgrave and Crutchley, the former 
ran up to me the moment I opened the door with a 
large folio in his hand, calling out, 

" See here, Miss Burney, you know what I said 
about the Racks " 



140 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

"The what, sir?" cried I, having forgot it all. 

"Why, the Racks; and here you see is the very 
same account. I must show it to the Doctor pres- 
ently; the old lion hardly believed it." 

He then read to me I know not how much stuff, not 
a word of which I could understand, because Mr. 
Crutchley sat laughing slyly, and casting up his eyes 
exactly before me, though unseen by Mr. Musgrave. 

As soon as I got away from him, and walked on 
to the other end of the room, Mr. Crutchley fol- 
lowed me, and said, 

" You went to bed too soon last night; you should 
have stayed a little longer, and then you would have 
heard such a panegyric as never before was spoken." 

" So I suppose," quoth I, not knowing what he 
drove at. 

" Oh yes ! " cried Mr. Musgrave, " Dr. Johnson 
pronounced such a panegyric upon Miss Burney as 
would quite have intoxicated anybody else; not her, 
indeed, for she can bear it, but nobody else could." 

"Oh! such praise," said Mr. Crutchley, "never 
did I hear before. It kept me awake, even me, after 
eleven o'clock, when nothing else could, — poor drowsy 
wretch that I am!" 

They then both ran on praising this praise (a qui 
mieux mieux) , and trying which should distract me 
most with curiosity to hear it; but I know Mr. 
Crutchley holds all panegyric in such infinite con- 
tempt and ridicule, that I felt nothing but mortifica- 
tion in finding he had been an auditor to my dear Dr. 
Johnson's partiality. 



178 1 ] Crutchley Teases Miss Burney 141 

" Woe to him," cried he at last, " of whom no one 
speaks ill ! Woe, therefore, to you in this house, I am 
sure!" 

" No, no," cried I, " you, I believe, will save me 
from that woe." 

In the midst of this business entered Miss Thrale. 
Mr. Musgrave, instantly flying up to her with the 
folio, exclaimed, " See, Miss Thrale, here's all that 
about the origin of Racks, that " 

" Of what? " cried she. " Of rats? " 

This set us all grinning; but Mr. Crutchley, who 
had pretty well recovered his spirits, would not rest 
a moment from plaguing me about this praise, and 
began immediately to tell Miss Thrale what an ora- 
tion had been made the preceding evening. 

The moment Mrs. Thrale came in, all this was 
again repeated, Mr. Musgrave almost blessing him- 
self with admiration while he talked of it, and Mr. 
Crutchley keeping me in a perpetual fidget, by never 
suffering the subject to drop. 

When they had both exhausted all they had to 
say in a general manner of this eloge, and Dr. John- 
son's fondness for me, for a little while we were 
allowed to rest; but scarce had I time to even hope 
the matter would be dropped, when Mr. Crutchley 
said to Mr. Musgrave, 

" Well, sir, but now we have paved the way, I 
think you might as well go on." 

" Yes," said Miss Thrale, never backward in pro- 
moting mischief, " methinks you might now disclose 
some of the particulars." 



142 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [178 1 

" Ay, do," said Mr. Crutchley, " pray repeat what 
he said." 

" Oh ! it is not in my power," cried Mr. Musgrave; 
" I have not the Doctor's eloquence. However, as 
well as I can remember, I will do it. He said that 
her manners were extraordinarily pleasing, and her 
language remarkably elegant; that she had as much 
virtue of mind as knowledge of the world ; that with 
all her skill in human nature, she was at the same 
time as pure a little creature " 

This phrase, most comfortably to me, helped us 
to a laugh, and carried off in something like a joke 
praise that almost carried me off, from very shame 
not better to deserve it. 

" Go on, go on ! " cried Mr. Crutchley; " you have 
not said half." 

"I am sensible of that," said he, very solemnly; 
" but it really is not in my power to do him justice, 
else I would say on, for Miss Burney I know would 
not be intoxicated." 

"No, no; more, more," cried that tiresome crea- 
ture; " at it again." 

" Indeed, sir; and upon my word I would if I 
could; but only himself can do the old lion jus- 
tice." . . . 

We had half done breakfast before he came down ; 
he then complained he had had a bad night and was 
not well. 

" I could not sleep," said he, laughing; "no, not 
a wink, for thinking of Miss Burney; her cruelty 
destroys my rest." 



178 1 ] Johnson's Sleepless Night 143 

"Mercy, sir!" cried Mrs. Thrale; "what, be- 
ginning already? — why, we shall all assassinate her. 
Late at night, and early at morn,— no wonder you 
can't sleep ! " 

" Oh ! what would I give," cried he, " that Miss 
Burney would come and tell me stories all night long ! 
— if she would but come and talk to me ! " 

" That would be delightful, indeed! " said I; " but 
when, then, should I sleep? " 

" Oh, that's your care ! I should be happy enough 
in keeping you awake." 

" I wish, sir," cried Mr. Musgrave, with vehe- 
mence, " I could give you my own night's sleep ! " 

" I would have you," continued Dr. Johnson to me 
(taking no notice of this flight), " come and talk to 
me of Mr. Smith, and then tell me stories of old 
Branghton, and then of his son, and then of your sea- 
captain." 

" And pray, sir," cried Mrs. Thrale, " don't for- 
get Lady Louisa, for I shall break my heart if you 
do." 

" Ay," answered he, " and of Lady Louisa, and of 
Evelina herself as much as you please, but not of 
Mr. Macartney 1 — no, not a word of him ! " 

" I assure you, ma'am," said Mr. Musgrave, " the 
very person who first told me of that book was Mr. 
Jessop, 2 my schoolmaster. Think of that! — was it 
not striking? ' A daughter,' says he, * of your friend 
Dr. Burney has written a book ; and it does her much 

1 Because he was Scotch. 

2 See above, p. 135. 



144 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

credit.' Think of that! (lifting up his hands to en- 
force his admiration) ; and he desired me to read it — 
he recommended it to me ; — a man of the finest taste, 
— a man of great profundity, — an extraordinary 
scholar, — living in a remote part of Ireland, — a man 
I esteem, upon my word ! " 

" But, sir," cried Mrs. Thrale to Dr. Johnson, 
" why, these men tell such wonders of what you said 
last night! Why, you spoke quite an oration in fa- 
vour of Miss Burney." 

" Ay," said Mr. Crutchley, " the moment it was 
over I went to bed. I stayed to hear the panegyric; 
but I thought I could bear nothing after it, and made 
off." 

" I would you were off now," cried I, " and in your 
phaeton in the midst of this rain ! " 

"Oh, sir!" cried Mr. Musgrave, "the Doctor 
went on with it again after you went; I had the 
honour to hear a great deal more." 

"Why, this is very fine indeed!" said Mrs. 
Thrale; "why, Dr. Johnson, — why, what is all 
this?" 

" These young fellows," answered he, " play me 
false; they take me in; they start the subject, and 
make me say something of that Fanny Burney, and 
then the rogues know that when I have once begun I 
shall not know when to leave off." 

"We are glad, sir," said Mr. Crutchley, "to 
hear our own thoughts expressed so much better than 
we can express them ourselves." 

I could only turn up my eyes at him. 



1781-82] Johnson's Illness 145 

" Just so," said Mrs. Thrale, 

" * What oft was thought, but ne'er so well 
express'd.' " 

Here, much to my satisfaction, the conversation 
broke up. 

Dr. Johnson * has been very unwell indeed. Once 
I was quite frightened about him; but he continues 
his strange discipline — starving, mercury, opium ; and 
though for a time half demolished by its severity, he 
always, in the end, rises superior both to the disease 
and the remedy, — which commonly is the most alarm- 
ing of the two. His kindness for me, I think, if 
possible, still increased: he actually bores everybody 
so about me that the folks even complain of it. I 
must, however, acknowledge I feel but little pity for 
their fatigue. 

I went 2 to dear Dr. Johnson's, rassegnarlo la solita 
servitu, but at one o'clock he was not up, and I did 
not like to disturb him. I am very sorry about him — 
exceeding sorry! When I parted from you on Mon- 
day, and found him with Dr. Lawrence, 3 I put my 
nose into the old man's wig and shouted; but got none 
except melancholy answers, — so melancholy, that I 
was forced to crack jokes for fear of crying. 

;< There is gout at the bottom, madam," says Law- 
rence. 

1 September 14. 2 February. 

8 His physician. He was at this time over seventy; Johnson 
outlived him. 



146 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

" I wish it were at the bottom! " replied saucebox, 
as loud as she could bawl, and pointing to the 
pedestals. 

" He complains of a general gravedo" 1 cries the 
Doctor; " but he speaks too good Latin for us." 

" Do you take care, at least, that it does not 
increase long" quoth I. (The word gravedo, you 
know, makes gravedinis, and is, therefore, said to 
" increase long in the genitive case.") I thought this 
a good, stupid, scholarlike pun, and Johnson seemed 
to like that Lawrence was pleased. 

This morning I was with him again. 

Oct. 15, 1782. 
I am very sorry you 2 could not come to Streatham 
at the time Mrs. Thrale hoped to see you, for when 
shall we be likely to meet there again? You would 
have been much pleased, I am sure, by meeting with 
General Paoli, 3 who spent the day there, and was 
extremely communicative and agreeable. I had seen 
him in large companies, but was never made known 
to him before ; nevertheless, he conversed with me as 
if well acquainted not only with myself, but my con- 
nections, — inquiring of me when I had last seen Mrs. 
Montagu ? and calling Sir Joshua Reynolds, when he 
spoke of him, my friend. He is a very pleasing man, 
tall and genteel in his person, remarkably well bred, 
and very mild and soft in his manners. 

1 See Letters, 2.229. "Gravedo, a cold in the head." (N.E.D.) 

2 This is an extract from a letter to Mr. Crisp. 

8 Johnson's friend, the Corsican patriot, who took refuge in Eng- 
land in 1769. (See Life, 2.71.) 




Fanny Burney in 1782 

(After a portrait by Edward Burney) 



1782] Paoli Describes Boswell 147 

I will try to give you a little specimen of his con- 
versation, because I know you love to hear particulars 
of all out-of-the-way persons. His English is blunder- 
ing, but not unpretty. Speaking of his first acquaint- 
ance with Mr. Boswell, 1 

" He came," he said, " to my country, and he 
fetched me some letter of recommending him; but 
I was of the belief he might be an impostor, and I 
supposed, in my minte, he was an espy; for I look 
away from him, and in a moment I look to him again, 
and I behold his tablets. 2 Oh! he was to the work 
of writing down all I say ! Indeed I was angry. But 
soon I discover he was no impostor and no espy; and I 
only find I was myself the monster he had come to 

discern. Oh, is a very good man; I love him 

indeed; so cheerful! so gay! so pleasant! but at the 
first, oh! I was indeed angry." 

After this he told us a story of an expectation he 
had had of being robbed, and of the protection he 
found from a very large dog that he is very fond of. 

"I walk out," he said, " in the night; I go to- 
wards the field; I behold a man — oh, ugly one! I 
proceed — he follow; I go on — he address me, ' You 
have one dog/ he says. * Yes,' say I to him. * Is a 
fierce dog? f he says; ' is he fiery? ' ' Yes,' reply I, 
1 he can bite/ ' I would not attack in the night/ says 
he, ' a house to have such dog in it/ Then I con- 
clude he was a breaker; so I turn to him — oh, very 



1 Boswell scraped acquaintance with General Paoli during his 
tour in Corsica, 1765. 

2 An interesting illustration of Boswell's biographical methods. 



148 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

rough ! not gentle — and I say, very fierce, * He shall 
destroy you, if you are ten ! ' " 

Afterwards, speaking of the Irish giant, who is 
now shown in town, he said, 

11 He is so large I am as a baby! I look at him— 
oh ! I find myself so little as a child ! Indeed, my 
indignation it rises when I see him hold up his hand 
so high. I am as nothing; and I find myself in the 
power of a man who fetches from me a half a crown." 

This language, which is all spoke very pompously 
by him, sounds comical from himself, though I know 
not how it may read. 

Adieu, my dear and kind daddy, and believe me 
your ever obliged and ever affectionate, 

F. B. 

Brighthelmstone, 1 October 26. — My journey was 
incidentless ; but the moment I came into Brighthelm- 
stone I was met by Mrs. Thrale, who had most 
eagerly been waiting for me a long while, and there- 
fore I dismounted, and walked home with her. It 
would be very superfluous to tell you how she received 
me, for you cannot but know, from her impatient 
letters, what I had reason to expect of kindness and 
welcome. 

I was too much tired to choose appearing at dinner, 
and therefore eat my eat upstairs, and was then deco- 
rated a little, and came forth to tea. 

Mr. Harry Cotton and Mr. Swinerton were both 

1 Johnson's visit to Brighthelmstone is mentioned in the Life, 
4. 159. 



1782] At Brighton 149 

here. Mrs. Thrale said they almost lived with her, 
and therefore were not to be avoided, but declared she 
had refused a flaming party of blues, for fear I 
should think, if I met them just after my journey, she 
was playing Mrs. Harrel. 1 

Dr. Johnson received me too with his usual good- 
ness, and with a salute so loud, that the two young 
beaus, Cotton and Swinerton, have never done laugh- 
ing about it. 

Mrs. Thrale spent two or three hours in my room, 
talking over all her affairs, and then we wished each 
other bon repos, and — retired. Grandissima con- 
clusion. 

Oh, but let me not forget that a fine note came from 
Mr. Pepys, who is here with his family, saying he 
was presse de vivre, and entreating to see Mrs. and 
Miss T., Dr. Johnson, and Cecilia, at his house the 
next day. I hate mightily this method of naming me 
from my heroines, of whose honour I think I am more 
jealous than of my own. 

Oct. 2J. — The Pepyses came to visit me in form, 
but I was dressing; in the evening, however, Mrs. and 
Miss T. took me to them. Dr. Johnson would not 
go; he told me it was my day, and I should be 
crowned, for Mr. Pepys was wild about Cecilia. 

" However," he added, " do not hear too much of 
it; but when he has talked about it for an hour 
or so, tell him to have done. There is no other 
way." 

1 A character in Cecilia. 



150 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

A mighty easy way, this! however, 'tis what he 
literally practises for himself. 

At dinner 1 we had Dr. Delap and Mr. Selwyn, 2 
who accompanied us in the evening to a ball; as did 
also Dr. Johnson, to the universal amazement of all 
who saw him there; — but he said he had found it so 
dull being quite alone the preceding evening, that 
he determined upon going with us; " for," he said, 
" it cannot be worse than being alone." 3 

Strange that he should think so! I am sure I am 
not of his mind. . . . 

Dr. Johnson was joined by a friend of his own, 
Mr. Metcalf, 4 and did tolerably well. 

Poor Mr. Pepys had, however, real cause to be- 
moan my escape ; 5 for the little set was broken up 
by my retreat, and he joined Dr. Johnson, with whom 
he entered into an argument upon some lines of Gray, 
and upon Pope's definition of wit, in which he was so 
roughly confuted, and so severely ridiculed, that he 
was hurt and piqued beyond all power of disguise, 



1 October 28. 

2 Dr. Delap is described at some length in the Diary, 1.222; and 
Mr. Selwyn in the same, 1. 299. 

3 " Any company, any employment, whatever, he preferred to 
being alone. The great business of his life (he said) was to 
escape from himself; this disposition he considered as the disease 
of his mind which nothing cured but company." (Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, quot. Life, 1. 144-145.) On January 10, 1783, he wrote to 
John Nichols, " Sickness and solitude make tedious evenings. Come 
sometimes, and see, Sir, Your humble servant." {Letters, 2. 281.) 

4 For Mr. Metcalf see Life, 4. 160, and below, pp. 157, 165. 

c October 29. The party at which this dispute occurred was 
given by Mrs. Thrale at Brighthelmstone. Cf. the similar quarrel 
above, pp. 124 ff. 




A caricature of Johnson, dated 1782 



1782] Another Quarrel with Pepys 151 

and, in the midst of this discourse, suddenly turned 
from him, and, wishing Mrs. Thrale good-night, very 
abruptly withdrew. 

Dr. Johnson was certainly right with respect to 
the argument and to reason; but his opposition was 
so warm, and his wit so satirical and exulting, that 
I was really quite grieved to see how unamiable he 
appeared, and how greatly he made himself dreaded 
by all, and by many abhorred. What pity that he 
will not curb the vehemence of his love of victory 
and superiority! 

The sum of the dispute was this. Wit being talked 
of, Mr. Pepys repeated, — 

" True wit is Nature to advantage dress'd, 
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd." 

" That, sir," cried Dr. Johnson, " is a definition 
both false and foolish. Let wit be dressed how it 
will, it will equally be wit, and neither the more nor 
the less for any advantage dress can give it." 

Mr. P. — But, sir, may not wit be so ill expressed, 
and so obscure, by a bad speaker, as to be lost ? 

Dr. J. — The fault, then, sir, must be with the 
hearer. If a man cannot distinguish wit from words, 
he little deserves to hear it. 

Mr. P. — -But, sir, what Pope means 

Dr. J. — Sir, what Pope means, if he means what he 
says, is both false and foolish. In the first place, 
" what oft was thought," is all the worse for being 
often thought, because to be wit, it ought to be newly 
thought. 



152 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

Mr. P. — But, sir, 'tis the expression makes it new. 

Dr. J. — How can the expression make it new ? It 
may make it clear, or may make it elegant ; but how 
new ? You are confounding words with things. 

Mr. P. — But, sir, if one man says a thing very ill, 
may not another man say it so much better that 

Dr. J. — That other man, sir, deserves but small 
praise for the amendment ; he is but the tailor to the 
first man's thoughts. 

Mr. P. — True, sir, he may be but the tailor; but 
then the difference is as great as between a man in 
a gold lace suit and a man in a blanket. 

Dr. J. — Just so, sir, I thank you for that : the dif- 
ference is precisely such, since it consists neither in 
the gold lace suit nor the blanket, but in the man by 
whom they are worn. 

pThis was the summary; the various contemptuous 
sarcasms intermixed would fill, and very unpleasantly, 
a quire. 

Thursday, Oct, 31. — A note came this morning to 
invite us all, except Dr. Johnson, to Lady Rothes's. 
Dr. Johnson has tortured poor Mr. Pepys so much 
that I fancy her ladyship omitted him in compliment 
to her brother-in-law. 

Saturday, Nov. 2. — We went to Lady Shelley's. 
Dr. Johnson, again, excepted in the invitation. He is 
almost constantly omitted, either from too much re- 
spect or too much fear. I am sorry for it, as he 
hates being alone, and as, though he scolds the others, 



1782] Johnson Prates Nonsense 153 

he is well enough satisfied himself ; and, having given 
vent to all his own occasional anger or ill-humour, he 
is ready to begin again, and is never aware that those 
who have so been " downed " by him, never can much 
covet so triumphant a visitor. In contests of wit, the 
victor is as ill off in future consequences as the van- 
quished in present ridicule. 

Monday, Nov. 4. — This was a grand and busy 
day. Mr. Swinerton x has been some time arranging 
a meeting for all our house, with Lady De Fer- 
rars. 2 . . . 

I happened to be standing by Dr. Johnson when 
all the ladies came in; but, as I dread him before 
strangers, from the staring attention he attracts both 
for himself and all with whom he talks, I endeavoured 
to change my ground. However, he kept prating a 
sort of comical nonsense that detained me some min- 
utes whether I would or not; but when we were all 
taking places at the breakfast-table I made another 
effort to escape. It proved vain; he drew his chair 
next to mine, and went rattling on in a humorous sort 
of comparison he was drawing of himself to me, — 
not one word of which could I enjoy, or can I remem- 
ber, from the hurry I was in to get out of his way. 
In short, I felt so awkward from being thus marked 
out, that I was reduced to whisper a request to Mr. 
Swinerton to put a chair between us, for which I 
presently made a space : for I have often known him 
stop all conversation with me, when he has ceased to 

1 The young beau mentioned above, pp. 148-49. 

2 For account of Lady De Ferrars, see Diary, z. 124 ff. 



154 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

have me for his next neighbour. Mr. Swinerton, who 
is an extremely good-natured young man, and so inti- 
mate here that I make no scruple with him, instantly 
complied, and placed himself between us. 

But no sooner was this done, than Dr. Johnson, 
half seriously, and very loudly, took him to task. 

"How now, sir! what do you mean by this? 
Would you separate me from Miss Burney? " 

Mr. Swinerton, a little startled, began some apolo- 
gies, and Mrs. Thrale winked at him to give up 
the place; but he was willing to oblige me, though 
he grew more and more frightened every minute, and 
coloured violently as the Doctor continued his re- 
monstrance, which he did with rather unmerciful 
raillery, upon his taking advantage of being in his own 
house to thus supplant him, and crow; but when he 
had borne it for about ten minutes, his face became 
so hot with the fear of hearing something worse, 
that he ran from the field, and took a chair between 
Lady De Ferrars and Mrs. Thrale. 

I think I shall take warning by this failure, to trust 
only to my own expedients for avoiding his public 
notice in future. However it stopped here ; for Lord 
De Ferrars came in, and took the disputed place 
without knowing of the contest, and all was quiet. 

All that passed afterwards was too general and 
too common to be recollected. . . . 

" Ay," cried Dr. Johnson, " some people want to 
make out some credit to me from the little rogue's 
book. I was told by a gentleman this morning, that 
it was a very fine book, if it was all her own. * It 



1782] Mr. Metcalf 155 

is all her own,' said I, c for me, I am sure, for I 
never saw one word of it before it was printed.' " 1 

This gentleman I have good reason to believe is 
Mr. Metcalf. . . . He is much with Dr. Johnson, 
but seems to have taken an unaccountable dislike to 
Mrs. Thrale, to whom he never speaks. I have seen 
him but once or twice myself; and as he is dry, and I 
am shy, very little has passed between us. . . . 

While we were debating this matter, a gentleman 
suddenly said to me, — " Did you walk far this morn- 
ing, Miss Burney? " And, looking at him, I saw 
Mr. Metcalf, whose graciousness rather surprised 
me, for he only made to Mrs. Thrale a cold and dis- 
tant bow, and it seems he declares, aloud and around, 
his aversion to literary ladies. That he can endure, 
and even seek me, is, I presume, only from the 
general perverseness of mankind, because he sees I 
have always turned from him ; not, however, from dis- 
liking him, for he is a shrewd, sensible, keen, and 
very clever man; but merely from a dryness on his 
own side that has excited retaliation. 

" Yes," I answered, " we walked a good way." 

" Dr. Johnson," said he, " told me in the morning 
you were no walker; but I informed him that I had 
had the pleasure of seeing you upon the Newmarket 
Hill." 

" Oh, he does not know," cried I, " whether I am 
a walker or not — he does not see me walk, because 
he never walks himself." 



1 And yet Lord Macaulay could intimate, in his essay on Mme. 
D'Arblay, that Johnson had a hand in "correcting" Cecilia! 



156: Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

" He has asked me," said he, " to go with him to 
Chichester, to see the cathedral, 1 and I told him I 
would certainly go if he pleased; but why, I cannot 
imagine, for how shall a blind man see a cathedral? " 

" I believe," quoth I, " his blindness is as much the 
effect of absence as of infirmity, for he sees wonder- 
fully at times." 2 

" Why, he has assured me he cannot see the colour 
of any man's eyes, and does not know what eyes any 
of his acquaintances have." 

" I am sure, however," cried I, " he can see the 
colour of a lady's top-knot, for he very often finds 
fault with it." 

" Is that possible?" 

" Yes, indeed; and I was much astonished at it at 
first when I knew him, for I had concluded that the 
utmost of his sight would only reach to tell him 
whether he saw a cap or a wig." 

Here he was called away by some gentleman. 

Thursday. 3 — Mr. Metcalf called upon Dr. John- 
son, and took him out an airing. Mr. Hamilton 4 is 
gone, and Mr. Metcalf is now the only person out 
of this house that voluntarily communicates with the 
Doctor. He has been in a terrible severe humour 



1 Johnson had already visited many, if not most, of the Eng- 
lish cathedrals. In 1777 Boswell wrote to him, "You have, I 
believe, seen all the cathedrals in England, except that of Carlisle." 
For the whole matter, see Hill's Appendix B to the Life, 3. The 
proposed visit to Chichester was made. (See Life, 4.160.) 

2 See above, p. 3. 

3 November 7. 

4 For Miss Burney's account of Hamilton, see Diary, 1. 308. 



1782] Johnson's Severe Humor 157 

of late, and has really frightened all the people, till 
they almost ran from him. To me only I think he is 
now kind, for Mrs. Thrale fares worse than anybody. 
'Tis very strange and very melancholy that he will not 
a little more accommodate his manners and language 
to those of other people. He likes Mr. Metcalf, 
however, and so do I, for he is very clever and enter- 
taining when he pleases. Capt. Phillips * will remem- 
ber that was not the case when we saw him at Sir 
Joshua's. He has, however, all the de quoi. 

Poor Dr. Delap confessed to us that the reason he 
now came so seldom, though he formerly almost lived 
with us when at this place, was his being too unwell to 
cope with Dr. Johnson. And the other day Mr. Sel- 
wyn having refused an invitation from Mr. Hamilton 
to meet the Doctor, because he preferred being here 
upon a day when he was out, suddenly rose at the 
time he was expected to return, and said he must run 
away, " for fear the Doctor should call him to ac- 
count." 



We spent this evening 2 at Lady De Ferrars, 3 
where Dr. Johnson accompanied us, for the first time 
he has been invited of our parties since my arrival. 

Monday and Tuesday. 4 " — I have no time, except to 
tell you a comical tale which Mrs. Thrale ran to 

1 Fanny's brother-in-law, husband of the " Susan " to whom much 
of the Diary is addressed. 

2 November 12. 

8 Cf. above, p. 153. 
* November 18 and 19. 



158 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

acquaint me with. She had been calling upon Mr. 
Scrase, an old and dear friend, who is confined with 
the gout; and while she was inquiring about him of 
his nurse and housekeeper, the woman said, 

" Ah, madam, how happy are you to have Minerva 
in the house with you! " 

" Oh," cried Mrs. Thrale, " you mean my dear 
Miss Burney, that wrote Cecilia. So you have read 
it; and what part did you like? " 

" Oh, madam, I liked it all better than anything I 
ever saw in my life; but most of all I liked that good 
old gentleman, Mr. Albany, that goes about telling 
people their duty, without so much as thinking of 
their fine clothes." 

When Mrs. Thrale told us this at dinner, Dr. 
Johnson said, 

" I am all of the old housekeeper's mind; Mr. Al- 
bany I have always stood up for; he is one of my 
first favourites. Very fine indeed are the things he 
says." 

My dear Dr. Johnson ! — what condescension is 
this ! He fully, also, enters into all my meaning in 
the high-flown language of Albany, from his partial 
insanity and unappeasable remorse. 

So here concludes Brighthelmstone for 1782. 

Dec. 8. — Now for Miss Monckton's assem- 
bly. . . . 

I was presently separated from Mrs. Thrale, and 
entirely surrounded by strangers, all dressed superbly, 
and all looking saucily; and as nobody's names were 



1782] Miss Monckton's Assembly 159 

spoken, I had no chance to discover any acquaint- 
ances. Mr. Metcalf, indeed, came and spoke to me 
the instant I came in, and I should have been very 
happy to have had him for my neighbour; but he 
was engaged in attending to Dr. Johnson, who was 
standing near the fire, and environed with listeners. 

Some new people now coming in, and placing 
themselves in a regular way, Miss Monckton ex- 
claimed, — " My whole care is to prevent a circle "; x 
and hastily rising, she pulled about the chairs, and 
planted the people in groups, with as dexterous a dis- 
order as you would desire to see. . . . 

Then came in Sir Joshua Reynolds, and he soon 
drew a chair near mine, and from that time I was 
never without some friend at my elbow. 

" Have you seen," he said, " Mrs. Montagu 
lately?" 

" No, not very lately." 

" But within these few months?" 

" No, not since last year." 

" Oh, you must see her, then. You ought to see 
and to hear her — 'twill be worth your while. Have 
you heard of the fine long letter she has written? " 

" Yes, but I have not met with it." 

" I have." 

"And who is it to?" 

" The old Duchess of Portland. 2 She desired Mrs. 

x The circle was the fashionable arrangement of guests at a 
levee or conversazione. 

2 An aged Bluestocking, a relic of the former age. In her 
childhood Prior addressed to her his charming Letter to the Hon- 
ourable Lady Miss Margaret-Cavendish-Holles-Harley. 



160 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

Montagu's opinion of Cecilia, and she has written it 
at full length. I was in a party at Her Grace's, and 
heard of nothing but you. She is so delighted, and 
so sensibly, so rationally, that I only wish you could 
have heard her. And old Mrs. Delany x had been 
forced to begin it, though she had said she should 
never read any more ; however, when we met, she was 
reading it already for the third time." 

Pray tell my daddy 2 to rejoice for me in this con- 
quest of the Duchess, his old friend, and Mrs. 
Delany, his sister's. 

Sir Joshua is extremely kind; he is always picking 
up some anecdote of this sort for me; yet, most deli- 
cately, never lets me hear his own praises but through 
others. He looks vastly well, and as if he had never 
been ill. 

After this Mrs. Burke saw me, and, with much 
civility and softness of manner, came and talked with 
me, while her husband, without seeing me, went be- 
hind my chair to speak to Mrs. Hampden. 

Miss Monckton, returning to me, then said, 

" Miss Burney, I had the pleasure yesterday of 
seeing Mrs. Greville." 3 

I suppose she concluded I was very intimate with 
her. 

" I have not seen her," said I, " many years." 

1 Mrs. Delany was the intimate friend of the Duchess of Port- 
land; she was now in her eighty-third year. In earlier times she 
had corresponded with Dean Swift. Miss Burney met her some 
months later; it was Mrs. Delany who introduced Miss Burney 
to the king and queen. 

a Mr. Crisp. 

8 See below, pp. 209 ff. 



Wj^^#**S* 




^y^*> /^zz 







v /£*£ -sr^**. &*^e~, '**-e*2>~ '\^^^ *^S^~ 

S&g^/ /&>*- Z*"^- ^~^>~=- ■ Jt&*v6^07r^,. 




An unpublished letter of Boswell's, referring to Johnson and 

Miss Burney 




}?2/>V 






1782] Burke and Miss Burney Converse 161 

" I know, however," cried she, looking surprised, 
" she is your godmother." 

" But she does not do her duty and answer for rne, 
for I never see her." 

" Oh, you have answered very well for yourself! 
But I know by that your name is Fanny." 

She then tripped to somebody else, and Mr. Burke 
very quietly came from Mrs. Hampden, and sat 
down in the vacant place at my side. I could then 
wait no longer, for I found he was more near-sighted 
than myself; I therefore, turned towards him and 
bowed : he seemed quite amazed, and really made me 
ashamed, however delighted, by the expressive civility 
and distinction with which he instantly rose to return 
my bow, and stood the whole time he was making his 
compliments upon seeing me, and calling himself the 
blindest of men for not finding me out sooner. And 
Mrs. Burke, who was seated near me, said, loud 
enough for me to hear her, 

" See, see ! what a flirtation Mr. Burke is begin- 
ning with Miss Burney! and before my face too! " 

These ceremonies over, he sate down by me, and 
began a conversation which you, my dearest Susy, 
would be glad to hear, for my sake, word for word ; 
but which I really could not listen to with sufficient 
ease, from shame at his warm eulogiums, to remem- 
ber with any accuracy. The general substance, how- 
ever, take as I recollect it. 

After many most eloquent compliments upon the 
book, too delicate either to shock or sicken the nicest 
ear, he very emphatically congratulated me upon its 



162 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

most universal success; said " he was now too late to 
speak of it, since he could only echo the voice of the 
whole nation " ; and added, with a laugh, " I had 
hoped to have made some merit of my enthusiasm; 
but the moment I went about to hear what others 
say, I found myself merely one in a multitude." 

He then told me that, notwithstanding his admira- 
tion, he was the man who had dared to find some 
faults with so favourite and fashionable a work. I 
entreated him to tell me what they were, and as- 
sured him nothing would make me so happy as to 
correct them under his direction. He then enumer- 
ated them. . . . 

" But," said he, when he had finished his comments, 
"what excuse must I give for this presumption? I 
have none in the world to offer but the real, the high 
esteem I feel for you; and I must at the same time 
acknowledge it is all your own doing that I am able 
to find fault ; for it is your general perfection in writ- 
ing that has taught me to criticise where it is not 
quite uniform." 

Here's an orator, dear Susy! 

Then, looking very archly at me, and around him, 
he said, 

" Are you sitting here for characters? Nothing, 
by the way, struck me more in reading your book 
than the admirable skill with which your ingenious 
characters make themselves known by their own 
words." 

He then went on to tell me that I had done the 
most wonderful of wonders in pleasing the old wits, 



1782] Reynolds, Burke, and Miss Burney 163 

particularly the Duchess of Portland and Mrs. De- 
lany, who resisted reading the book till they were 
teased into it, and, since they began, could do noth- 
ing else; and he failed not to point out, with his 
utmost eloquence, the difficulty of giving satisfaction 
to those who piqued themselves upon being past re- 
ceiving it. 

" But," said he, "I have one other fault to find, 
and a far more material one than I have mentioned." 

" I am more obliged to you. What is it? " 

" The disposal of this book. I have much advice 
to offer to you upon that subject. Why did not you 
send for your own friend out of the city? he would 
have taken care you should not part with it so much 
below par." x 

He meant Mr. Briggs. 2 

Sir Joshua Reynolds now joined us. 

" Are you telling her," said he, " of our conversa- 
tion with the old wits ? I am glad you hear it from 
Mr. Burke, Miss Burney, for he can tell it so much 
better than I can, and remember their very words." 

" Nothing else would they talk of for three whole 
hours," said he, " and we were there at the third 
reading of the bill." 

" I believe I was in good hands," said I, " if they 
talked of it to you? " 

" Why, yes," answered Sir Joshua, laughing, " we 

1 " She had i.z$o for it from Payne and Cadell. Most people 
say she ought to have had a thousand. It is now going into 
the third edition, tho' Payne owns that they printed 2,000 at the 
first edition, and Lowndes told me five hundred was the common 
number for a novel." (Charlotte Burney in the Early Diary, 2. 307.) 

2 A character in Cecilia, a miser. 



164 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

joined in from time to time. Gibbon says he read the 
whole five volumes in a day." 

" 'Tis impossible," cried Mr. Burke, " it cost me 
three days ; and you know I never parted with it from 
the time I first opened it." 

Here are laurels, Susy ! My dear daddy and Kitty, 
are you not doubly glad you so kindly hurried me 
upstairs to write when at Chessington? 

Mr. Burke then went to some other party, and Mr. 
Swinerton took his place, with whom I had a dawd- 
ling conversation upon dawdling subjects; and I was 
not a little enlivened, upon his quitting the chair to 
have it filled by Mr. Metcalf, who, with much 
satire, but much entertainment, kept chattering with 
me till Dr. Johnson found me out, and brought a chair 
opposite to me. 

Do you laugh, my Susan, or cry at your F. B.'s 
honours ? 

" So," said he to Mr. Metcalf, " it is you, is it, 
that are engrossing her thus ? " 

" He's jealous," said Mr. Metcalf drily. 

" How these people talk of Mrs. Siddons! " 1 said 
the Doctor. " I came hither in full expectation of 
hearing no name but the name I love and pant to 
hear, — when from one corner to another they are 
talking of that jade Mrs. Siddons ! till, at last wearied 
out, I went yonder into a corner, and repeated to 
myself Burney! Burney! Burney! Burney!" 

1 Mrs. Siddons's success had begun in the winter of 1776, but 
had been confined to the provinces. Her first successful appear- 
ance in London had been made on the tenth of October, 1782; she 
had thus been less than two months before the public when this 
conversation took place. 



1782] Johnson Must Sec Mrs. Siddons 165 

" Ay, sir," said Mr. Metcalf, " you should have 
carved it upon the trees." 

" Sir, had there been any trees, so I should; but, 
being none, I was content to carve it upon my 
heart." . . . 

Miss Monckton now came to us again, and I con- 
gratulated her upon her power in making Dr. Johnson 
sit in a group ; upon which she immediately said to him, 

" Sir, Miss Burney says you like best to sit in a 
circle!" 1 

" Does she ? " said he, laughing. " Ay, never mind 
what she says. Don't you know she is a writer of 
romances? " 

"Yes, that I do, indeed! " said Miss Monckton, 
and every one joined in a laugh that put me horribly 
out of countenance. 

" She may write romances and speak truth," said 
my dear Sir Joshua, who, as well as young Burke, and 
Mr. Metcalf, and two strangers, joined now in our 
little party. 

" But, indeed, Dr. Johnson," said Miss Monck- 
ton, " you must see Mrs. Siddons. Won't you see her 
in some fine part? " 

" Why, if I must, madam, I have no choice." 2 

" She says, sir, she shall be very much afraid of 
you." 

1 See above, p. 159, note 1. 

2 There is no record that Johnson ever saw Mrs. Siddons act. 
Mrs. Siddons called on him, however, in October, 1783, at which 
time he promised her that whenever she should act the part of 
Katharine (sic) in Henry Fill he would "once more hobble out 
to the theatre." (Life, 4.242; cf. Letters, 2.345.) She did not act 
Katharine until after his death. 



1 66 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

" Madam, that cannot be true." 

" Not true," cried Miss Monckton, staring, " yes 
it is." 

" It cannot be, madam." 

" But she said so to me; I heard her say it my- 
self." 

" Madam, it is not possible! remember, therefore, 
in future, that even fiction should be supported by 
probability." 

Miss Monckton looked all amazement, but in- 
sisted upon the truth of what she had said. 

" I do not believe, madam," said he warmly, " she 
knows my name." 

" Oh, that is rating her too low," said a gentle- 
man stranger. 

" By not knowing my name," continued he, " I do 
not mean so literally; but that, when she sees it abused 
in a newspaper, she may possibly recollect that she 
has seen it abused in a newspaper before." 

" Well, sir," said Miss Monckton, " but you must 
see her for all this." 

" Well, madam, if you desire it, I will go. See 
her I shall not, nor hear her; but I'll go, and that will 
do. The last time I was at a play, I was ordered 
there by Mrs. Abington, or Mrs. Somebody, I do 
not well remember who, but I placed myself in the 
middle of the first row of the front boxes, to show 
that when I was called I came." 

The talk upon this matter went on very long, and 
with great spirit; but I have time for no more of it. 
I felt myself extremely awkward about going away, 



1782] Reynolds's Company Declined 167 

not choosing, as it was my first visit, to take French 
leave, and hardly knowing how to lead the way alone 
among so many strangers. 

At last, and with the last, I made my attempt. A 
large party of ladies arose at the same time, and I 
tripped after them; Miss Monckton, however, made 
me come back, for she said I must else wait in 
the other room till those ladies' carriages drove 
away. 

When I returned, Sir Joshua came and desired he 
might convey me home; I declined the offer, and he 
pressed it a good deal, drolly saying, 

" Why, I am old enough, a'n't I? " 

And when he found me stout, he said to Dr. 
Johnson, 

"Sir, is not this very hard? Nobody thinks me 
very young, yet Miss Burney won't give me the privi- 
lege of age in letting me see her home? She says I 
a'n't old enough." 

I had never said any such thing. 

" Ay, sir," said the doctor, " did I not tell you 
she was a writer of romances?" 

Again I tried to run away, but the door stuck, and 
Miss Monckton prevented me, and begged I would 
stay a little longer. She then went and whispered 
something to her mother, and I had a notion from her 
manner, she wanted to keep me to supper, which I did 
not choose, and, therefore, when her back was turned, 
I prevailed upon young Burke to open the door for 
me, and out I went. Miss Monckton ran after me, 
but I would not come back. I was, however, and 



1 68 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

I am, much obliged by her uncommon civility and at- 
tentions to me. She is far better at her own house 
than elsewhere. 

Now, to return to Tuesday, 1 one of my out- 
days. 

I went in the evening to call on Mrs. Thrale, and 
tore myself away from her to go to Bolt Court to see 
Dr. Johnson, who is very unwell. He received me 
with great kindness, and bade me come oftener, which 
I will try to contrive. He told me he heard of 
nothing but me, call upon him who would; and, 
though he pretended to growl, he was evidently de- 
lighted for me. His usual set, Mrs. Williams and 
Mrs. De Mullins, were with him; and some queer 
man of a parson who, after grinning at me some time, 
said, 

" Pray, Mrs. De Mullins, is the fifth volume of 
Cecilia at home yet? Dr. Johnson made me read it, 
ma'am." 

" Sir, he did it much honour " 

"Made you, sir? " said the Doctor; " you give an 
ill account of your own taste or understanding, if you 
wanted any making to read such a book as Cecilia! y 

" Oh, sir, I don't mean that; for I am sure I left 
everything in the world to go on with it." 

A shilling was now wanted for some purpose or 
other, and none of them happened to have one; I 
begged that I might lend one. 

" Ay, do," said the Doctor, " I will borrow of 

1 Probably December 17. 



1782] Instructions to Susan Thrale 169 

you; 1 authors are like privateers, always fair game 
for one another." 

" True, sir," said the parson, " one author is al- 
ways robbing another." 

" I don't know that, sir," cried the Doctor; " there 
sits an author who, to my knowledge, has robbed 
nobody. I have never once caught her at a theft. 
The rogue keeps her resources to herself ! " 

Friday. 2 — I dined with Mrs. Thrale and Dr. John- 
son, who was very comic and good-humoured. Susan 
Thrale had just had her hair turned up, and pow- 
dered, and has taken to the womanly robe. Dr. 
Johnson sportively gave her instructions how to in- 
crease her consequence, and to " take upon her " 
properly. 

" Begin," said he, " Miss Susy, with something 
grand — something to surprise mankind! Let your 
first essay in life be a warm censure of Cecilia. You 
can no way make yourself more conspicuous. Tell 
the world how ill it was conceived, and how ill exe- 
cuted. Tell them how little there is in it of human 
nature, and how well your knowledge of the world 
enables you to judge of the failings in that book. 
Find fault without fear; and if you are at a loss for 
any to find, invent whatever comes into your mind, 
for you may say what you please, with little fear of 

"'He has now and then borrowed a shilling of me; and when 
I asked for it again, seemed to be rather out of humour. A droll 
little circumstance once occurred: as if he meant to reprimand my 
minute exactness as a creditor, he thus addressed me ; — ' Boswell, 
lend me sixpence — not to be repaid.'" {Life, 4. 191.) 

2 December 27. 



170 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782-83 

detection, since of those who praise Cecilia not half 
have read it, and of those who have read it, not half 
remember it. Go to work, therefore, boldly; and 
particularly mark that the character of Albany is ex- 
tremely unnatural, to your own knowledge, since you 
never met with such a man at Mrs. Cummyn's 
School." 

This stopped his exhortation, for we laughed so 
violently at this happy criticism that he could not 
recover the thread of his harangue. 

Mrs. Thrale, who was to have gone with me to 
Mrs. Ord's, gave up her visit in order to stay with 
Dr. Johnson ; Miss Thrale, therefore, and I went to- 
gether. 

Friday, 4th Jan. — We had an invited party at 
home, both for dinner and the evening. . . . 

Dr. Johnson came so very late, that we had all 
given him up : he was, however, very ill, and only 
from an extreme of kindness did he come at all. 
When I went up to him, to tell how sorry I was to 
find him so unwell, — 

" Ah! " he cried, taking my hand and kissing it, 
" who shall ail anything when ' Cecilia ' is so* near? 
Yet you do not think how poorly I am!" 

This was quite melancholy, and all dinner-time he 
hardly opened his mouth but to repeat to me, — 
"Ah! you little know how ill I am." He was ex- 
cessively kind to me, in spite of all his pain, and 
indeed I was so sorry for him, that I could talk no 
more than himself. All our comfort was from Mr. 



1783] Johnson's Affection for the Burneys 171 

Seward, who enlivened us as much as he possibly 
could by his puns and his sport. But poor Dr. John- 
son was so ill, that after dinner he went home. 

I made a visit to poor Dr. Johnson, 1 to inquire 
after his health. I found him better, yet extremely 
far from well. One thing, however, gave me infinite 
satisfaction. He was so good as to ask me after 
Charles, 2 and said, " I shall be glad to see him; pray 
tell him to call upon me." I thanked him very much, 
and said how proud he would be of such a permission. 

" I should be glad," said he, still more kindly, 
" to see him, if he were not your brother; but were 
he a dog, a cat, a rat, a frog, and belonged to you, 
I must needs be glad to see him ! " 3 

Mr, Seward has sent me a proof plate, upon silver 
paper, of an extremely fine impression of this dear 
Doctor, a mezzotinto, by Doughty, 4 from Sir Joshua's 
picture, and a very pretty note to beg my acceptance 
of it. I am much obliged to him, and very glad to 
have it. 

Thursday, Feb. 23. . . . He [Mr. Cambridge 5 ] 
began talking of Dr. Johnson, and asking after his 
present health. 



1 January 10. 

2 Her younger brother, a schoolteacher, who afterwards became 
famous as a Greek scholar. 

3 Cf. below, p. 177. 

4 The best-known of the engravings of Johnson ; taken from Sir 
Joshua's portrait now in the National Gallery. 

6 The Rev. Richard Owen Cambridge, of Twickenham. The 
conversation here recorded is said to have taken place during a 
journey to London (Diary, 2.203-204), but cf. the following note. 



172 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1783 

11 He is very much recovered," I answered, " and 
out of town, at Mr. Langton's. 1 And there I hope 
he will entertain him with enough of Greek." 

" Yes," said Mr. Cambridge, " and make his son 
repeat the Hebrew alphabet to him." 2 

" He means," said I, " to go, when he returns, to 
Mr. Bowles, in Wiltshire. 1 I told him I had heard 
that Mr. Bowles was very much delighted with the 
expectation of seeing him, and he answered me, — 
1 He is so delighted, that it is shocking ! — it is really 
shocking to see how high are his expectations.' I 
asked him why; and he said, — ' Why, if any man is 
expected to take a leap of twenty yards, and does 
actually take one of ten, everybody will be disap- 
pointed, though ten yards may be more than any 
other man ever leaped! ' " 

Thursday, June ig. — We heard to-day that Dr. 



1 There is some strange confusion in dates at this point in the 
Diary. Johnson's visit to Langton took place in July, not in 
February, and the visit to Mr. Bowles in the following August 
and September. (See Life, 4. 233 ff.) Hill in his edition of the 
Letters (2.317, note), quotes this passage, with the remark that 
Miss Burney has certainly misdated the entry, but it is more 
likely that a page of her MS. has been misplaced and incorrectly 
dated, not improbably by her first editor, Mrs. Barrett. Color is 
given to this supposition by the fact that in July of this same 
year Miss Burney and her parents dined with the Cambridges at 
Twickenham {Diary, 2.218), at which time the conversation here 
recorded may very well have taken place. It is also noticeable 
that in this entry of July 15 a passage seems to be missing (page 
221). It is therefore possible to assume that the conversation 
under discussion originally occupied this place, and for some 
reason not obvious was transferred from its original position. 
Dobson in his edition of the Diary seems not to have noticed 
this discrepancy in dates. 

3 See above, p. 26. 



J 7^3] Johnson's Stroke of Paralysis 173 

Johnson had been taken ill, 1 in a way that gave a 
dreadful shock to himself, and a most anxious alarm 
to his friends. Mr. Seward brought the news here, 
and my father and I instantly went to his house. He 
had earnestly desired me, when we lived so much 
together at Streatham, to see him frequently if he 
should be ill. He saw my father, but he had medical 
people with him, and could not admit me upstairs, but 
he sent me down a most kind message, that he thanked 
me for calling, and when he was better should hope 
to see me often. I had the satisfaction to hear from 
Mrs. Williams that the physicians had pronounced 
him to be in no danger, and expected a speedy re- 
covery. 

The stroke was confined to his tongue. Mrs. Wil- 
liams told me a most striking and touching circum- 
stance that attended the attack. It was at about four 
o'clock in the morning: he found himself with a 
paralytic affection; he rose, and composed in his own 
mind a Latin prayer to the Almighty, " that what- 
ever were the sufferings for which he must prepare 
himself, it would please Him, through the grace and 
mediation of our blessed Saviour, to spare his intel- 
lects, and let them all fall upon his body." When 
he had composed this, internally, he endeavoured to 
speak it aloud, but found his voice was gone. 

Wednesday } July 1. — I was again at Mrs. Vesey's 

1 The story of this illness, told in Johnson's own words, may be 
read in a series of letters to Mrs. Thrale {Letters, 2. 300 ff.), where 
the Latin prayer mentioned in the text may also be found. (Cf. 
Life, 4.227 ff.) 



174 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1783 

where again I met Mr. Walpole, Mr. Pepys, Miss 
Elliott, Mr. Burke, his wife and son, Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, and some others. . . . 

I had the satisfaction to hear from Sir Joshua that 
Dr. Johnson had dined with him at the Club. I 
look upon him, therefore, now, as quite recovered. 
I called the next morning to congratulate him, and 
found him very gay and very good-humoured. 1 

Thursday, Oct, 2Q. — This morning, at breakfast, 
Mr. Hoole 2 called. I wanted to call upon Dr. John- 
son, and it is so disagreeable to me to go to him 
alone, now poor Mrs. Williams is dead, 3 on account 
of the quantity of men always visiting him, 4 that I 
most gladly accepted, almost asked, his 'squireship. 

We went together. The dear Doctor received me 
with open arms. 

" Ah, dearest of all dear ladies ! " he cried, and 
made me sit in his best chair. 

He had not breakfasted. 

" Do you forgive my coming so soon? " said I. 

" I cannot forgive your not coming sooner," he 
answered. 

1 On this same day Dr. Johnson wrote to Mrs. Thrale, " This 
morning I took the air by a ride to Hampstead, and this afternoon 
I dined with the club — I hope that I recover by degrees, but my 
nights are restless." {Letters, 2. 311 ff.) 

2 The Rev. Samuel Hoole. He was the one who read the Litany 
to the dying Johnson. (See Life, 4.409.) 

* For the death of Mrs. Williams, which occurred September 6, 
see Letters, 2.331 and Life, 4.235. 

4 " About twelve o'clock I commonly visited him, and fre- 
quently found him in bed, or declaiming over his tea, which he 
drank very plentifully. He generally had a levee of morning 
visitors, chiefly men of letters . . . and sometimes learned ladies." 
(Dr. Maxwell's account of Johnson, Life, 2. 118.) 



1783] Fanny Visits Johnson 175 

I asked if I should make his breakfast, which I 
have done since we left Streatham; he readily con- 
sented. 

" But, sir," quoth I, " I am in the wrong chair." 
For I was away from the table. 

" It is so difficult," said he, " for anything to be 
wrong that belongs to you, that it can only be I am 
in the wrong chair, to keep you from the right one." 

And then we changed. 

You will see by this how good were his spirits 
and his health. 

I stayed with him two hours, and could hardly get 
away; he wanted me to dine with him, and said he 
would send home to excuse me; but I could not pos- 
sibly do that. Yet I left him with real regret. 

Wednesday, Nov. ig. — I received a letter from Dr. 
Johnson, which I have not by me, but will try to 
recollect. 

"To Miss Burney 1 

" Madam — You have now been at home this long 
time, and yet I have neither seen nor heard from you. 
Have we quarrelled? 

" I have met with a volume of the Philosophical 

x The letter, as Miss Burney intimates, is not a literally accu- 
rate copy of the original (which may be found in the Letters, 
2-353); but is so nearly a reproduction of it as to make the 
original not worth quoting here. The most important difference 
is the absence of the title of the newly-found volume in the 
original letter. This is, therefore, an interesting proof of the re- 
liability of Miss Burney's verbal memory, and may serve to give 
us confidence in her record of Johnson's conversation. 



176 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1783 

Transactions, which I imagine to belong to Dr. Bur- 
ney. 1 Miss Charlotte 2 will please to examine. 

" Pray send me a direction where Mrs. Chapone 3 
lives ; and pray, some time, let me have the honour of 
telling you how much I am, madam, your most hum- 
ble servant, " Sam. Johnson." 4 

Now if ever you read anything more dry, tell me. 
I was shocked to see him undoubtedly angry, but took 
courage, and resolved to make a serious defence; 
therefore thus I answered, 

" To Dr. Johnson 
" Dear Sir — May I not say dear ? for quarrelled I 
am sure we have not. The bad weather alone has 

1 Johnson was very careless with borrowed books. A number 
of those which he borrowed while writing the Dictionary were 
never returned. In her Memoirs of Dr. Burney, Mme. D'Arblay 
gives the following account of Garrick's imitation of Johnson: 
" He took off the voice, sonorous, impressive, and oratorical, of 
Dr. Johnson, in a short dialogue with himself that had passed the 
preceding week. 'David! — will you lend me your Petrarca ?' 
' Y-e-s, Sir!....' 'David! you sigh?' 'Sir — you shall have it, 
certainly.' ' Accordingly,' Mr. Garrick continued, ' the book — 
stupendously bound — I sent to him that very evening. But 
scarcely had he taken the noble quarto in his hands, when — as 
Boswell tells, he poured forth a Greek ejacuation, and a couplet 
or two from Horace; and then, in one of those fits of enthusiasm 
which always seem to require that he should spread his arms 
aloft in the air, his haste was so great to debarrass them for that 
purpose, that he suddenly pounces my poor Petrarca over his 
head upon the floor! Russia leather, gold border, and all! And 
then, standing for several minutes erect, he forgot probably that 
he had ever seen it; and left my poor dislocated Beauty to the 
mercy of the housemaid's morning mop! '" (Memoirs, 1.352-353-) 

2 Fanny's sister. 

8 Formerly Miss Mulso, the friend of Richardson, and later 
author of the famous Letters. 

4 According to Hill (Letters, 2.354), Miss Burney wrote at the 
foot of this letter, " F. B. flew to him instantly and most grate- 
fully." 



1783] Another Visit to Bolt Court 177 

kept me from waiting upon you; but now you have 
condescended to give me a summons, no lion shall 
stand in the way of my making your tea this after- 
noon, unless I receive a prohibition from yourself, and 
then I must submit; for what, as you said of a certain 
great lady, signifies the barking of a lap-dog, if once 
the lion puts out his paw? 1 

" The book was very right. Mrs. Chapone lives 
at either No. 7 or 8 in Dean Street, Soho. 

" I beg you, sir, to forgive a delay for which I 
can only * tax the elements with unkindness,' and to 
receive, with your usual goodness and indulgence, 
your ever most obliged and most faithful humble 
servant, " F. Burney. 

"St. Martin's Street, Nov. 19, 1783." 

My dear father spared me the coach, and to Bolt 
Court, therefore, I went, and with open arms was I 
received. Nobody was there but Charles 2 and Mr. 
Sastres, 3 and Dr. Johnson was, if possible, more in- 
structive, entertaining, good-humoured, and exqui- 
sitely fertile, than ever. He thanked me repeatedly 
for coming, and was so kind I could hardly ever leave 
him. 

Just then 4 my father came in : and then Mr. G. C. 5 
came, and took the chair half beside me. 

1 " This bore reference to an expression of Dr. Johnson's, upon 
hearing that Mrs. Montagu resented his Life of Lord Lyttelton." 
(Mme. D'Arblay, Memoirs, 2.357, note.) 

2 Her brother. (See above, p. 171.) 

3 An Italian master, to whom Johnson left a bequest. 

4 This conversation took place at an assembly of Mrs. Vesey's, 
on December 9. (Diary, 2.231.) 

5 The younger Mr. Cambridge, the Rev. George Owen Cam- 
bridge, a frequent character in the pages of the Diary. 



178 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1783 

I told him of some new members for Dr. Johnson's 
club. 1 

" I think," said he, " it sounds more like some 
club that one reads of in the Spectator, 2 than 
like a real club in these times; for the forfeits 
of a whole year will not amount to those of a 
single night in other clubs. Does Pepys belong 
to it?" 

" Oh no! he is quite of another party! He is 
head man on the side of the defenders of Lord Lyt- 
telton. Besides, he has had enough of Dr. Johnson; 
for they had a grand battle upon the Life of Lyttel- 
ton, at Streatham." 3 

" And had they really a serious quarrel? I never 
imagined it had amounted to that." 

" Oh yes, serious enough, I assure you. I never 
saw Dr. Johnson really in a passion but then : and 
dreadful, indeed, it was to see. I wished myself away 
a thousand times. It was a frightful scene. He so 
red, poor Mr. Pepys so pale ! " 

" But how did it begin? What did he say? " 

" Oh, Dr. Johnson came to the point without much 



1 The Essex Head Club, not the more famous Literary Club. 
For an account of its foundation and members, see Life, 4.253-255 
and 436-438. Mme. D'Arblay gives an inferior account of it, 
under the title " Sam's Club " in Memoirs, 2. 261 ff. 

2 See No. 9, for March 10, 1710. The first and third rules of 
the Two-Penny Club described in this paper were, " Every mem- 
ber at his first coming in shall lay down his Two-Pence," and 
" If any member absents himself he shall forfeit a Penny for the 
Use of the Club . . ."; the fifth rule of the Essex Head Club 
was " Every member present at the Club shall spend at least 
sixpence; and every member who stays away shall forfeit three- 
pence." 

8 See above, pp. 124 ff. 



1783] Johnson's Quarrel with Pepys 179 

ceremony. He called out aloud, before a large com- 
pany, at dinner, ' What have you to say, sir, to me or 
of me? Come forth, man ! I hear you object to my 
Life of Lord Lyttelton. What are your objections? 
If you have anything to say, let's hear it. Come 
forth, man, when I call you! " 

" What a call, indeed ! Why then, he fairly bullied 
him into a quarrel ! " 

" Yes. And I was the more sorry, because Mr. 
Pepys had begged of me, before they met, not to let 
Lord Lyttelton be mentioned. Now I had no more 
power to prevent it than this macaroon cake in my 
hand." 

" It was behaving ill to Mrs. Thrale, certainly, to 
quarrel in her house." 

" Yes; but he never repeated it; though he wished 
of all things to have gone through just such another 
scene with Mrs. Montagu, 1 and to refrain was an act 
of heroic forbearance." 

"Why, I rather wonder he did not; for she was 
the head of the set of Lytteltonians." 

" Oh, he knows that; he calls Mr. Pepys only her 
prime minister." 

" And what does he call her? " 

"'Queen,' to be sure; 'Queen of the Blues!' 
She came to Streatham one morning, and I saw he was 
dying to attack her. But he had made a promise to 
Mrs. Thrale to have no more quarrels in her house, 
and so he forced himself to forbear. Indeed he was 
very much concerned, when it was over, for what had 

1 See above, p. 123. 



180 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1783 

passed; and very candid and generous in acknowl- 
edging it. He is too noble to adhere to wrong." 

"And how did Mrs. Montagu herself behave ?" 

" Very stately, indeed, at first. She turned from 
him stiffly, and with a most distant air, and without 
even courtesying to him, and with a firm intention to 
keep to what she had publicly declared — that she 
would never speak to him more ! However, he went 
up to her himself, longing to begin ! and very roughly 
said, — ' Well, madam, what's become of your fine 
new house? I hear no more of it.' " 

" But how did she bear this? " 

"Why, she was obliged to answer him; and she 
soon grew so frightened — as everybody does — that 
she was as civil as ever." 

He laughed heartily at this account. But I told 
him Dr. Johnson was now much softened. He had 
acquainted me, when I saw him last, that he had 
written to her upon the death of Mrs. Williams, 1 be- 
cause she had allowed her something yearly, which 
now ceased. 

" ' And I had a very kind answer from her,' said 
he. 

" ' Well then, sir,' cried I, ' I hope peace now 
will be again proclaimed.' 

" ' Why, I am now,' said he, * come to that time 
when I wish all bitterness and animosity to be at an 
end. I have never done her any serious harm — nor 

a This beautiful and touching letter {Letters, 2.336), ends, "That 
I have not written sooner, you may impute to absence, to ill- 
health, to any thing rather than want of regard to the benefactress 
of my departed friend." 



1783] Johnson's Illness 181 

would I; though I could give her a bite! — but she 
must provoke me much first. In volatile talk, indeed, 
I may have spoken of her not much to her mind; for 
in the tumult of conversation malice is apt to grow 
sprightly; and there, I hope, I am not yet decrepid ! ' " 

He quite laughed aloud at this characteristic 
speech. 

I most readily assured the Doctor that I had 
never yet seen him limp ! 

Tuesday. 1 — I spent the afternoon with Dr. John- 
son, who indeed is very ill, 2 and whom I could hardly 
tell how to leave. But he is rather better since, 
though still in a most alarming way. Indeed, I am 
very much afraid for him ! He was very, very kind ! 
— Oh, what a cruel, heavy loss will he be ! 

Tuesday, Dec. 30. — I went to Dr. Johnson, and 
spent the evening with him. He was very indifferent, 
indeed. There were some very disagreeable people 
with him; and he once affected me very much, by 
turning suddenly to me, and grasping my hand, and 
saying, 

" The blister I have tried for my breath 3 has be- 
trayed some very bad tokens; but I will not terrify 
myself by talking of them: ah, priez Dieu pour 
moi!" 

You may believe I promised that I would ! — Good 

1 December 16. 

2 See the letters to Mrs. Thrale (December 13) and Dr. Taylor 
(December 20), Letters, 2.3645. 

3 See Letters, 2. 369. 



1 82 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1784 

and excellent as he is, how can he so fear death? 1 
— Alas, my Susy, how awful is that idea ! — He was 
quite touchingly affectionate to me. How earnestly I 
hope for his recovery ! 

Tuesday, Jan, 6. — I spent the afternoon with Dr. 
Johnson, and had the great satisfaction of finding 
him better. 

Monday, April ig. — I went in the evening to see 
dear Dr. Johnson. He received me with open arms, 
scolded me with the most flattering expressions for 
my absence, but would not let me come away with- 
out making me promise to dine with him next day, 
on a salmon from Mrs. Thrale. 2 This I did not dare 
refuse, as he was urgent, and I had played truant so 
long; but, to be sure, I had rather have dined first, on 
account of poor Blacky. 3 He is amazingly recovered, 



1 In a letter to Mrs. Thrale, dated December 31 (Letters, 2. 369) 
he describes himself as " looking back with sorrow, and forward 
with terrour." In considering Johnson's dread of death, two 
things must always be remembered: (1) he feared not the physical 
pangs of dissolution, but the fate of his soul. Boswell says {Life, 
2.298), "His fear . . . was the result of philosophical and re- 
ligious consideration. He feared death, but he feared nothing else, 
not even what might occasion death." (2) He was resigned and 
hopeful at the end. {Life, 4. 416 ff.) 

2 On this day Johnson wrote to Mrs. Thrale, " I received in the 
morning your magnificent fish, and in the afternoon your apology 
for not sending it. . . . Since I was sick I know not if I have 
not had more delicacies sent me than I had ever seen till I saw 
your table." (Letters, 2. 390 ff.) 

8 Mr. Dobson (Diary, 2. 252, note) is undoubtedly correct in 
assuming that this is a reference to Frank Barber, Johnson's negro 
servant. He quotes from the Life, 2.215, " Foote, I remember, in 
allusion to Francis, the negro, was willing to suppose that our 
repast was black broth." 



!7^4] Johnson in Better Spirits 183 

and perfectly good-humoured and comfortable, and 
smilingly alive to idle chat. 

At Dr. Johnson's we had Mr. and Mrs. Hoole and 
their son, and Mrs. Hall, 1 a very good Methodist, 
and sister of John Wesley. The day was tolerable, 
but Dr. Johnson is never his best when there is nobody 
to draw him out; 2 but he was much pleased with my 
coming, and very kind indeed. 

Norbury Park, 3 Sunday, Nov. 28. — Last Thurs- 
day, Nov. 25, my father set me down at Bolt Court, 
while he went on upon business. I was anxious to 
again see poor Dr. Johnson, who has had terrible 
health since his return from Lichfield. 4 He let me in, 
though very ill. He was alone, which I much re- 
joiced at; for I had a longer and more satisfactory 
conversation with him than I have had for many 
months. He was in rather better spirits, too, than I 
have lately seen him; but he told me he was 

1 " Sister of the Rev. Mr. John Wesley, and resembling him, as 
I thought, both in figure and manner" {Life, 4. 92 ff.), which pas- 
sage see also for a conversation between her and Dr. Johnson. 
Mrs. Hall was a Methodist preacher. 

2 See above, p. 3. 

3 The residence of her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Locke. Mrs. Locke 
took Mrs. Thrale's place as Miss Burney's dear friend, com- 
panion, and hostess. See Diary, 2, passim. 

4 " In July I went to Lichfield, and performed the journey with 
very little fatigue in the common vehicle, but found no help from 
my native air. I then removed to Ashbourn, in Derbyshire, where 
for some time I was oppressed very heavily by the asthma; and 
the dropsy had advanced so far, that I could not without great 
difficulty button me at my knees." {Letters, 2.423.) Towards the 
end of September, he returned to Lichfield. The symptoms of his 
illness may be found in the series of painful letters which he wrote 
to various friends from there. This was the last visit that John- 
son made; he returned to London on November 16. 



184 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1784 

going to try what sleeping out of town might do for 
him. 

" I remember," said he, " that my wife, when she 
was near her end, 1 poor woman, was also advised 
to sleep out of town; and when she was carried to 
the lodgings that had been prepared for her, she com- 
plained that the staircase was in very bad condition — 
for the plaster was beaten off the walls in many places. 
1 Oh,' said the man of the house, ' that's nothing but 
by the knocks against it of the coffins of the poor 
souls that have died in the lodgings ! ' " 

He laughed, though not without apparent secret 
anguish, in telling me this. I felt extremely shocked, 
but, willing to confine my words at least to the literal 
story, I only exclaimed against the unfeeling absurdity 
of such a confession. 

" Such a confession," cried he, " to a person then 
coming to try his lodging for her health, contains, 
indeed, more absurdity than we can well lay our 
account for." 

I had seen Miss T. 2 the day before. 

II So," said he, " did I." 

I then said, " Do you ever, sir, hear from her 
mother? " 

" No," cried he, " nor write to her. I drive her 
quite from my mind. If I meet with one of her let- 
ters, I burn it instantly. I have burnt all I can find. 
I never speak of her, and I desire never to hear of 



1 She died in 1752. 

2 Miss Thrale, who had separated from her mother at the time 
of the latter's marriage to Piozzi. 



1784] Genius 185 

her more. I drive her, as I said, wholly from my 
mind." 

Yet, wholly to change this discourse, I gave him a 
history of the Bristol milk-woman 1 and told him the 
tales I had heard of her writing so wonderfully, 
though she had read nothing but Young and Milton ; 
" though those," I continued, " could never possibly, 
I should think, be the first authors with anybody. 
Would children understand them ? and grown people 
who have not read are children in literature." 

"Doubtless," said he; " but there is nothing so 
little comprehended among mankind as what is 
genius. They give to it all, when it can be but a 
part. Genius Is nothing more than knowing the use 
of tools ; 2 but there must be tools for it to use : a man 
who has spent all his life in this room will give a 
very poor account of what is contained in the next." 

1 The poems of this woman, after having been submitted to the 
correction of Miss Hannah More, appeared in a handsome quarto, 
towards the end of 1784 (dated ahead 1785), entitled, Poems on 
Several Occasions by Ann Yearsley, a Milkwoman of Bristol. 
An enormous list of distinguished subscribers contains the names 
of Miss Burney and her father. Later Mrs. Yearsley lost the 
patronage of Miss More, and having no adventitious appeal, like 
that of her townsman Chatterton, sank gradually from public view. 

2 Johnson, like Carlyle later, believed genius to be an inborn 
power or insight which might be turned by education into almost 
any channel. " One man has more mind than another. He may 
direct it differently; he may, by accident, see the success of one 
kind of study, and take a desire to excel in it. I am persuaded 
that had Sir Isaac Newton applied to poetry, he would have made 
a very fine epic poem. I could as easily apply to law as to 
tragic poetry. Boswell. Yet, Sir, you did apply to tragic poetry, 
not to law. Johnson. Because, Sir, I had not money to study law. 
Sir, the man who has vigour, may walk to the east just as well 
as to the west, if he happens to turn his head that way." (Life, 
5.35.) Cf. Life, 2.437, note, for a comparison of various passages 
on this subject. 



1 86 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [!784 

" Certainly, sir; yet there is such a thing as in- 
vention? Shakespeare could never have seen a 
Caliban;' 

" No; but he had seen a man, and knew, therefore, 
how to vary him to a monster. A man who would 
draw a monstrous cow, must first know what a cow 
commonly is ; or how can he tell that to give her an 
an ass's head or an elephant's tusk will make her 
monstrous? Suppose you show me a man who is a 
very expert carpenter; another will say he was born 
to be a carpenter — but what if he had never seen any 
wood? Let two men, one with genius, the other with 
none, look at an overturned waggon : — he who has no 
genius, will think of the waggon only as he sees it, 
overturned, and walk on; he who has genius, will 
paint it to himself before it was overturned, — stand- 
ing still, and moving on, and heavy loaded, and 
empty ; but both must see the waggon, to think of it at 
all." 

How just and true all this, my dear Susy ! He then 
animated, and talked on, upon this milk-woman, upon 
a once as famous shoemaker, 1 and upon our immortal 
Shakespeare, with as much fire, spirit, wit, and truth 
of criticism and judgment, as ever yet I have heard 
him. How delightfully bright are his faculties, 

1 " He spoke with much contempt of the notice taken of Wood- 
house, the poetical shoemaker. He said it was all vanity and 
childishness: and that such subjects were, to those who patronised 
them, mere mirrours of their own superiority. ' They had better 
(said he), furnish the man with good implements for his trade, 
then raise subscriptions for his poems. He may make an ex- 
cellent shoemaker, but can never make a good poet. A school- 
boy's exercise may be a pretty thing for a schoolboy; but it is 
no treat for a man.'" (Life, 2.127; cf. 1.520.) 



1784] The Last Interview with Johnson 187 

though the poor and infirm machine that contains 
them seems alarmingly giving way. 

Yet, all brilliant as he was, I saw him growing 
worse, and offered to go, which, for the first time I 
ever remember, he did not oppose; but, most kindly 
pressing both my hands, 

" Be not," he said, in a voice of even tenderness, 
" be not long in coming again for my letting you go 
now." 

I assured him I would be the sooner, and was run- 
ning off, but he called me back, in a solemn voice, and, 
in a manner the most energetic, said, 

" Remember me in your prayers ! " 

I longed to ask him to remember me, but did not 
dare. I gave him my promise, and, very heavily in- 
deed, I left him. Great, good, and excellent that he 
is, how short a time will he be our boast! Ah, my 
dear Susy, I see he is going ! This winter will never 
conduct him to a more genial season here ! Else- 
where, who shall hope a fairer? I wish I had bid 
him pray for me ; but it seemed to me presumptuous, 
though this repetition of so kind a condescension 
might, I think, have encouraged me. 

St. Martin's Street, Wednesday, Dec. 10. — I went 
in the evening to poor Dr. Johnson. Frank told me 
he was very ill, but let me in. He would have taken 
me upstairs, but I would not see him without his 
direct permission. I desired Frank to tell him I 
called to pay my respects to him, but not to disturb 
him if he was not well enough to see me. Mr. 



1 88 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1784 

Strahan, 1 a clergyman, he said, was with him 
alone. 

In a few minutes, this Mr. Strahan came to me 
himself. He told me Dr. Johnson was very ill, very 
much obliged to me for coming, but so weak and bad 
he hoped I would excuse his not seeing me. . . . 

Dear, dear, and much-reverenced Dr. Johnson ! 
how ill or how low must he be, to decline seeing a 
creature he has so constantly, so fondly, called about 
him! If I do not see him again I shall be truly 
afflicted. And I fear, I almost know, I cannot ! 

At night my father brought us the most dismal 
tidings of dear Dr. Johnson. Dr. Warren had seen 
him, and told him to take what opium he pleased ! 2 
He had thanked and taken leave of all his physicians. 
Alas ! — I shall lose him, and he will take no leave of 
me! My father was deeply depressed; he has him- 
self tried in vain for admission this week. Yet some 
people see him — the Hooles, Mr. Sastres, Mr. Lang- 
ton; — but then they must be in the house, watching 
for one moment, whole hours. I hear from every one 
he is now perfectly resigned to his approaching fate, 
and no longer in terror of death. 3 I am thankfully 
happy in hearing that he speaks himself now of the 
change his mind has undergone, from its dark hor- 
ror, and says — " He feels the irradiation of hope! " 

1 See Life, 4. 415 ff. 

2 He did not avail himself of this permission. When he realized 
that he was beyond medical aid, he said, " I will take no more 
physic, not even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may render 
up my soul to God unclouded." Boswell adds, " In this resolu- 
tion he persevered." {Life, 4.415.) 

3 Cf. Life, 4.416. 



1784] The Dying Johnson 189 

Good, and pious, and excellent Christian — who shall 
feel it if not he? 

Thursday morning. 1 — I am told by Mr. Hoole, 2 
that he inquired of Dr. Brocklesby if he thought it 
likely he might live six weeks? and the Doctor's hesi- 
tation saying — No — he has been more deeply de- 
pressed than ever. Fearing death as he does, no one 
can wonder. Why he should fear it, all may wonder. 

He sent me down yesterday, by a clergyman who 
was with him, 3 the kindest of messages, and I hardly 
know whether I ought to go to him again or not; 
though I know still less why I say so, for go again 
I both must and shall. One thing, his extreme de- 
jection of mind considered, has both surprised and 
pleased me; he has now constantly an amanuensis 
with him, and dictates to him such compositions, par- 
ticularly Latin and Greek, as he has formerly made, 
but repeated to his friends without ever committing to 
paper. 4 This, I hope, will not only gratify his sur- 
vivors, but serve to divert him. 

1 This extract from a letter to Mrs. Locke, begun Sunday, Decem- 
ber 7, but not completed till Thursday, December n, actually 
precedes the entry for December 10 in the original Diary; but as 
it relates to the same visit (though written a day later), it is here 
given in its proper chronological position. Hill {Life, 4.439) in- 
correctly assumes that the date should be December 9. 

2 See above, p. 174, note. 

s Mr. Strahan. 

* " He was able, in the course of his restless nights, to make 
translations of Greek epigrams from the Anthologia; and to 
compose a Latin epitaph for his father, his mother, and his 
brother Nathaniel. He meditated at the same time, a Latin inscrip- 
tion to the memory of Garrick, but his vigour was exhausted." 
Murphy, in Miscellanies, 1. 445. Boswell records that he repeated 
to his attendants the verses on Sir John Lade referred to above, 
p. 33, note. {Life, 4. 411.) 



190 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1784 

The good Mr. Hoole and equally good Mr. Sas- 
tres attend him, rather as nurses than friends, for 
they sit whole hours by him, without even speaking 
to him. He will not, it seems, be talked to — at least 
very rarely. At times, indeed, he reanimates; but it 
is soon over, and he says of himself, " I am now like 
Macbeth, — question enrages me." 1 

My father saw him once while I was away, and 
carried Mr. Burke with him, 2 who was desirous of 
paying his respects to him once more in person. He 
rallied a little while they were there ; and Mr. Burke, 
when they left him, said to my father — " His work 
is almost done; and well has he done it! " 

Dec. 11. — We had a party to dinner, by long ap- 
pointment, for which, indeed, none of us were well 
disposed, the apprehension of hearing news only of 
death being hard upon us all. The party was, Dr. 
Rose, Dr. Gillies, Dr. Garthshore, and Charles. 3 

The day could not be well — but mark the night. 



1 Mr. Hoole, in his ' Narrative,' records this utterance under 
date, November 28. (Miscellanies, 2. 151.) It is therefore hardly 
to be thought of as one of his dying utterances. 

2 Langton told Boswell that " one day he found Mr. Burke and 
four or five more friends sitting with Johnson. Mr. Burke said to 
him, ' I am afraid, Sir, such a number of us may be oppressive to 
you.' 'No, sir (said Johnson), it is not so; and I must be in a 
wretched state, indeed, when your company would not be a delight 
to me.' Mr. Burke, in a tremulous voice expressive of being very 
tenderly affected, replied, ' My dear Sir, you have always been too 
good to me.' Immediately afterwards he went away. This was 
the last circumstance in the acquaintance of these two eminent 
men." (Life, 4.407.) 

8 Dr. Rose and Dr. Gillies were distinguished classical scholars; 
Dr. Garthshore was a physician. Dr. Rose was master of Chis- 
wick School, where Charles Burney was an instructor. 



1784] The Dying Johnson 191 

My father, in the morning, saw this first of men ! 
I had not his account till bedtime; he feared over- 
exciting me. He would not, he said, but have seen 
him for worlds ! He happened to be better, and ad- 
mitted him. He was up, and very composed. He 
took his hand very kindly, asked after all his family, 
and then, in particular, how Fanny did? 

" I hope," he said, " Fanny did not take it amiss 
that I did not see her? I was very bad! " 

Amiss ! — what a word ! Oh that I had been pres- 
ent to have answered it! My father stayed, I sup- 
pose, half an hour, and then was coming away. He 
again took his hand, and encouraged him to come 
again to him; and when he was taking leave, said — 
" Tell Fanny to pray for me!" 

Ah ! dear Dr. Johnson ! might I but have your 
prayers! After which, still grasping his hand, he 
made a prayer himself, — the most fervent, pious, 
humble, eloquent, and touching, my father says, that 
ever was composed. Oh, would I had heard it ! He 
ended it with Amen ! in which my father joined, and 
was echoed by all present. And again, when my 
father was leaving him, he brightened up, something 
of his arch look returned, and he said — " I think I 
shall throw the ball at Fanny yet ! " 1 

Little more passed ere my father came away, de- 
cided, most tenderly, not to tell me this till our party 
was gone. 

This most earnestly increased my desire to see him ; 

1 Probably, begin a conversation with; from the old phrase 
"To take up the ball: to take one's turn in conversation, etc." 
(N.E.D.) 



192 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1784 

this kind and frequent mention of me melted me 
into double sorrow and regret. I would give the 
world I had but gone to him that day ! It was, how- 
ever, impossible, and the day was over before I knew 
he had said what I look upon as a call to me. This 
morning, after church time, I went. Frank said he 
was very ill, and saw nobody; I told him I had 
understood by my father the day before that he meant 
to see me. He then let me in. I went into his room 
upstairs; he was in his bedroom. I saw it crowded, 
and ran hastily down. Frank told me his master had 
refused seeing even Mr. Langton. I told him merely 
to say I had called, but by no means to press my ad- 
mission. His own feelings were all that should be 
consulted; his tenderness, I knew, would be equal, 
whether he was able to see me or not. 

I went into the parlour, preferring being alone in 
the cold, to any company with a fire. Here I waited 
long, here and upon the stairs, which I ascended and 
descended to meet again with Frank, and make in- 
quiries; but I met him not. At last upon Dr. John- 
son's ringing his bell, I saw Frank enter his room, 
and Mr. Langton follow. "Who's that?" I heard 
him say; they answered, "Mr. Langton," and I 
found he did not return. 

Soon after, all the rest went away but a Mrs. 
Davis, a good sort of woman, 1 whom this truly 



x On September 16, 1783, Johnson wrote to Frank, "I purpose to 
be with [you] on Thursday before dinner. As Thursday is my 
birthday, I would have a little dinner got, and would have you 
invite Mrs. Desmoulins, Mrs. Davis that was about Mrs. Williams, 
and Mr. Allen and Mrs. Gardiner." 






1784] The Death of Johnson 193 

charitable soul had sent for to take a dinner at his 
house. I then went and waited with her by the fire : 
it was, however, between three and four o'clock be- 
fore I got any answer. Mr. Langton then came him- 
self. He could not look at me, and I turned away 
from him. Mrs. Davis asked how the Doctor was? 
" Going on to death very fast! " was his mournful 
answer. " Has he taken," she said, " anything? " 
11 Nothing at all! We carried him some bread and 
milk — he refused it, and said — ' The less the better' " 
She asked more questions, by which I found his 
faculties were perfect, his mind composed, and his 
dissolution was quick drawing on. 



I could not immediately go on, and it is now long 
since I have written at all; but I will go back to this 
afflicting theme, which I can now better bear. 

Mr. Langton was, I believe, a quarter of an 
hour in the room before I suspected he meant to 
speak to me, never looking near me. At last 
he said, 

" This poor man, I understand, ma'am, desired 
yesterday to see you." 

" My understanding that, sir, brought me to- 
day." ' 

" Poor man ! it is pity he did not know himself 
better, and that you should have had this trouble." 

"Trouble!" cried I; "I would come a hundred 
times to see him the hundredth and first ! " 

" He hopes, now, you will excuse him ; he is very 



194 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1784 

sorry not to see you ; but he desired me to come and 
speak to you myself, and tell you he hopes you will 
excuse him, he feels himself too weak for such an 
interview." 

I hastily got up, left him my most affectionate re- 
spects, and every good wish I could half utter, and 
ran back to the coach. Ah, my Susy! I have never 
been to Bolt Court since ! 

Dec. 20. — This day was the ever-honoured, ever- 
lamented Dr. Johnson committed to the earth. Oh, 
how sad a day to me ! My father attended, and so 
did Charles. I could not keep my eyes dry all day; 
nor can I now, in the recollecting it ; but let me pass 
over what to mourn is now so vain ! 

I long to know 1 what you think of our dear Dr. 
Johnson's meditations, 2 and if you do not, in the 
midst of what you will wish unpublished, see stronger 
than ever the purity of his principles and character, 
and only lament that effusions should be given to the 
world that are too artless to be suited to it. 

1 From a letter to Dr. Burney, dated September 24, 1785. 

2 Prayers and Meditations, Composed by Samuel Johnson, LL.D., 
and published from his manuscripts by George Strahan . . . 
London, 1785. Strahan was the clergyman mentioned above, p. 188, 
who attended the dying Johnson. This work may be most easily 
consulted in the Miscellanies, z. 1 ff. It is significant of the popu- 
lar interest in Johnson that, within two years of his death, there 
appeared from the press, not only the work mentioned above, 
but also anonymous Memoirs, a biographical sketch in the Gentle- 
man's Magazine, The Beauties of Samuel Johnson, Table-Talk, Last 
Words of Dr. Johnson, More Last Words of Dr. Johnson, Mme. 
Piozzi's Anecdotes, and Boswell's Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides. 
The official Life, by Sir John Hawkins, appeared in Z787. Bos- 
well's Life did not appear till 1791. 



1787] Boswell 195 

Tuesday, Dec. 20} — 1st, summons; 2ndly, entree. 

" Miss Burney, have you heard that Boswell is 
going to publish a life of your friend Dr. John- 
son?" 2 

" No, ma'am." 

" I tell you as I heard. I don't know for the truth 
of it, and I can't tell what he will do. He is so 
extraordinary a man, that perhaps he will devise 
something extraordinary." 3 

He 4 had lately, he told me, had much conversa- 
tion concerning me with Mr. Boswell. I feel sorry 
to be named or remembered by that biographical, 
anecdotical memorandummer, till his book of poor 
Dr. Johnson's life is finished and published. What 
an anecdote, however, did he tell me of that most 
extraordinary character! He is now an actual 
admirer and follower of Mrs. Rudd ! 5 — and 
avows it, and praises her extraordinary attractions 
aloud ! 

The King came into the room during coffee, and 
talked over Sir John Hawkins's Life of Dr. Johnson 

x The conversation with Queen Charlotte here recorded took 
place at the house of Mrs. Delany (above, p. 160), where Miss 
Burney happened to be visiting. 

2 Boswell announced his intention of publishing a Life of Johnson 
in his Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, which was published in 
this year. 

8 Her sarcasm proved greater wisdom than she could have 
suspected. 

4 Miss Burney had recently become, as a result of the meeting 
with the king and queen mentioned above, one of Queen Char- 
lotte's Dressers. The " he " of the first sentence is one of her 
fellow-slaves, the Queen's French reader, whom Miss Burney always 
calls "Mr. Turbulent," for whom see Diary, 3, passim. 

5 See above, p. 47, note 3. 



196 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1787-88 

and with great candour and openness. I have not yet 
read it. 

Once before, when I lived in the world, 1 I had met 
with Dr. Beattie, 2 but he then spoke very little, the 
company being large; and for myself, I spoke not at 
all. Our personal knowledge of each other there- 
fore sunk not very deep. It was at the house of Miss 
Reynolds. My ever-honoured Dr. Johnson was there, 
and my poor Mrs. Thrale, her daughter, Mrs. Ord, 
Mrs. Horneck, Mrs. Gwynn, 3 the Bishop of Dro- 
more, 4 and Mrs. Percy, and Mr. Boswell, and Mr. 
Seward, with some others. 

Many things I do recollect of that evening, par- 
ticularly one laughable circumstance. I was coming 
away at night, without having been seen by Dr. 
Johnson, but knowing he would reproach me after- 
wards, I begged my father to tell him I wished him 
good-night. He instantly called me up to him, took 
both my hands, which he extended as far asunder as 
they would go, and just as I was unfortunately curt- 
seying to be gone, he let them loose and dropped both 
his own on the two sides of my hoop, with so ponder- 
ous a weight, that I could not for some time rise from 
the inclined posture into which I had put myself, and 
in which, though quite unconscious of what he was 
about, he seemed forcibly holding me. 



1 That is, before she became one of the queen's attendants. Her 
life at court was a species of slavery slowly undermining her 
health and spirits. 

* It is not recorded elsewhere in the Diary. 

8 Goldsmith's " Jessamy Bride," formerly Mary Horneck. 

*Dr. Percy. 






1788] Letters of Johnson and Mrs. Thrale 197 

Wednesday, January g. — To-day Mrs. Schwellen- 
berg * did me a real favour, and with real good- 
nature; for she sent me the letters of my poor lost 
friends, Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, 2 which she 
knew me to be almost pining to procure. The book 
belongs to the Bishop of Carlisle, who lent it to Mr. 
Turbulent, from whom it was again lent to the 
Queen, and so passed on to Mrs. Schwellenberg. It 
is still unpublished. 

With what a sadness have I been reading! what 
scenes has it revived ! — what regrets renewed ! These 
letters have not been more improperly published in 
the whole, than they are injudiciously displayed in 
their several parts. She has given all — every word 3 
— and thinks that, perhaps, a justice to Dr. Johnson, 
which, in fact, is the greatest injury to his memory. 4 

The few she has selected of her own do her, 
indeed, much credit: she has discarded all that were 
trivial and merely local, and given only such as con- 
tain something instructive, amusing, or ingenious. 

About four of the letters, however, of my ever- 
revered Dr. Johnson are truly worthy his exalted 

1 This was the old German woman, Miss Burney's fellow- 
attendant on the queen, whom Macaulay genially describes as " a 
hateful old toad-eater, as illiterate as a chambermaid, as proud 
as a whole German chapter, rude, peevish, unable to bear solitude, 
unable to conduct herself with common decency in society." 

2 Mrs. Thrale was not lost to her by death, but only by her 
marriage with Piozzi, which Miss Eurney, like Johnson, never 
really forgave; cf. above, p. 184. 

8 This is not literally true. 

4 Miss Burney, like Hannah More, who implored Boswell to 
" mitigate the asperities " of Johnson's character, had small con- 
fidence in the advisability of telling the whole truth. To what 
ridiculous results her theory of clipping and adorning the facts 
led her may be seen in her Memoirs of Dr. Burney. 



198 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1788 

powers: one is upon Death, 1 in considering its ap- 
proach as we are surrounded, or not, by mourners; 
another, upon the sudden and premature loss of poor 
Mrs. Thrale's darling and only son. 2 

Our name once occurs : how I started at its sight ! — 
'Tis to mention the party that planned the first visit 
to our house: 3 Miss Owen, Mr. Seward, Mrs. and 
Miss Thrale, and Dr. Johnson. How well shall we 
ever, my Susan, remember that morning! 

He loved Dr. Johnson, 4 — and Dr. Johnson re- 
turned his affection. Their political principles and 
connections were opposite, but Mr. Wyndham re- 
spected his venerable friend too highly to discuss any 
points that could offend him; and showed for him so 
true a regard, that, during all his late illnesses, for 
the latter part of his life, his carriage and himself 
were alike at his service, to air, visit, or go out, when- 
ever he was disposed to accept them. 

Nor was this all; one tender proof he gave of 
warm and generous regard, that I can never forget, 
and that rose instantly to my mind when I heard his 
name, and gave him a welcome in my eyes when 
they met his face : it is this : Dr. Johnson, in his last 
visit to Lichfield, was taken ill, and waited to recover 
strength for travelling back to town in his usual 

1 No. 302, Letters, i. 212. 

2 No. 465, Letters, 1. 381. 

3 No. 512, Letters, 2. 4-5. See above, p. 1. 

4 This is an extract from the entry for February 13, descriptive 
of the trial of Warren Hastings. " Mr. Wyndham I had seen 
twice before . . . he is one of the most agreeable, spirited, well- 
bred, and brilliant conversers I have ever spoken with." (Diary, 
3.419.) He attended the dying Johnson. {Life, 4.407.) 




OtonfiJfiitee fof&e Jfjjtihm tfSXf n.iJettcrj 







mo 



The Ghost of Johnson Haunting Mrs. Thrale 



(A caricature, dated 1788) 



1788] Johnson and Wyndham 199 

vehicle, a stage-coach; — as soon as this reached the 
ears of Mr. Wyndham, he set off for Lichfield in his 
own carriage, to offer to bring him back to town in 
it, and at his own time. 

For a young man of fashion, such a trait towards 
an old, however dignified philosopher, must surely be 
a mark indisputable of an elevated mind and char- 
acter; and still the more strongly it marked a noble 
way of thinking, as it was done in favour of a person 
in open opposition to all his own party, and declared 
prejudices. . . . 

I reminded him of the airings, in which he gave 
his time with his carriage for the benefit of Dr. John- 
son's health, "What an advantage !" he cried, 
"was all that to myself! I had not merely an ad- 
miration, but a tenderness for him, — the more I knew 
him, the stronger it became. We never disagreed; 
even in politics I found it rather words than things in 
which we differed." 

" And if you could so love him," cried I, " know- 
ing him only in a general way, what would you have 
felt for him had you known him at Streatham? " 

I then gave him a little history of his manners and 
way of life there, — his good humour, his sport, his 
kindness, his sociability, and all the many excellent 
qualities that, in the world at large, were by so many 
means obscured. 

He was extremely interested in all I told him, and 
regrettingly said he had only known him in his worst 
days, when his health was upon its decline, and in- 
firmities were crowding fast upon him. 



200 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1788-90 

" Had he lived longer," he cried, " I am satisfied 
I should have taken him to my heart! have looked 
up to him, applied to him, advised with him in the 
most essential occurrences of my life? I am sure 
too, — though it is a proud assertion, — he would have 
liked me, also, better, had we mingled more. I felt 
a mixed fondness and reverence growing so strong 
upon me, that I am satisfied the closest union would 
have followed his longer life." 

I then mentioned how kindly he had taken his 
visit to him at Lichfield during a severe illness. 
" And he left you," I said, " a book? " x 

" Yes," he answered, " and he gave me one, also, 
just before he died. ' You will look into this some- 
times/ he said, ' and not refuse to remember whence 
you had it.' " 

And then he added he had heard him speak of 
me, — and with so much kindness, that I was forced 
not to press a recapitulation: yet now I wish I had 
heard it. 

Just before we broke up, " There is nothing," he 
cried, with energy, " for which I look back upon my- 
self with severer discipline than the time I have 
thrown away in other pursuits, that might else have 
been devoted to that wonderful man ! " 

And now for a scene a little surprising. 

The beautiful chapel of St. George, repaired and 
finished by the best artists at an immense expense, 
which was now opened after a very long shutting up 

1 Copies of a work in Greek, and of the New Testament. (Life, 
4. 402, note; 440.) 



1790] Boswell Meets Miss Burney 201 

for its preparations, brought innumerable strangers 
to Windsor, and, among others, Mr. Boswell. 

This I heard, in my way to the chapel, from Mr. 
Turbulent, 1 who overtook me, and mentioned having 
met Mr. Boswell at the Bishop of Carlisle's the even- 
ing before. He proposed bringing him to call upon 
me; but this I declined, certain how little satisfac- 
tion would be given here by the entrance of a man 
so famous for compiling anecdotes. But yet I really 
wished to see him again, for old acquaintance' sake, 
and unavoidable amusement from his oddity and good 
humour, as well as respect for the object of his con- 
stant admiration, my revered Dr. Johnson. I there- 
fore told Mr. Turbulent I should be extremely glad 
to speak with him after the service was over. 

Accordingly, at the gate of the choir, Mr. Tur- 
bulent brought him to me. We saluted with mutual 
glee: his comic-serious face and manner have lost 
nothing of their wonted singularity; nor yet have 
his mind and language, as you will soon confess. 

" I am extremely glad to see you indeed," he cried, 
" but very sorry to see you here. My dear ma'am, 
why do you stay? — it won't do, ma'am! you must 
resign ! 2 — we can put up with it no longer. I told 
my good host the Bishop so last night; we are all 
grown quite outrageous ! " 

1 See above, p. 198, note 4. 

2 So close was Miss Burney's confinement as "Dresser" that her 
health had begun to give way. Boswell was not the only one 
who complained of the treatment which she was patiently en- 
during. " Walpole asked whether her talents were given to be 
buried in obscurity. Wyndham . . . threatened to set the Literary 
Club on her father." Dobson's Fanny Burney, p. 172. 



202 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1790 

Whether I laughed the most, or stared the most, 
I am at a loss to say; but I hurried away from the 
cathedral, not to have such treasonable declarations 
overheard, for we were surrounded by a multitude. 

He accompanied me, however, not losing one mo- 
ment in continuing his exhortations: " If you do not 
quit, ma'am, very soon, some violent measures, I as- 
sure you, will be taken. We shall address Dr. Burney 
in a body; I am ready to make the harangue myself. 
We shall fall upon him all at once." 

I stopped him to inquire about Sir Joshua ; * he 
said he saw him very often, and that his spirits were 
very good. I asked about Mr. Burke's book. 2 " Oh," 
cried he, "it will come out next week: 'tis the first 
book in the world, except my own, and that's coming 
out also very soon; only I want your help." 

" My help?" 

"Yes, madam; you must give me some of your 
choice little notes of the Doctor's; we have seen him 
long enough upon stilts; I want to show him in a 
new light. Grave Sam, and great Sam, and solemn 
Sam, and learned Sam, — all these he has appeared 
over and over. Now I want to entwine a wreath of 
the graces across his brow ; I want to show him as gay 
Sam, agreeable Sam, pleasant Sam; so you must help 
me with some of his beautiful billets to yourself." 

I evaded this by declaring I had not any stores at 
hand. He proposed a thousand curious expedients to 
get at them, but I was invincible. 

1 His eyesight had recently begun to fail ; he had lost the sight 
of one eye entirely, and apprehended total blindness. 

2 Reflections on the Revolution in France. 




S% J&(^dJt;[ju(r,L!irf darted admi, ^Tj ' / Jftif^fatt^JfcMc cAt,&or(/^v/^rtyuAs 

Jntt y&vJ^-MnJiM, aj %u jiw~&d)60r, M^'fa; dou/d' druse fa, J%.c£- fa dit JWZ- 



The Bust of Johnson Frowning at Boswell, 
Courtenay, and Mrs. Thrale 

(A caricature, dated 1786) 



1 790] Boswell Reads from His Life 203 

Then I was hurrying on, lest I should be too late. 
He followed eagerly, and again exclaimed, " But, 
ma'am, as I tell you, this won't do — you must resign 
off-hand! Why, I would farm you out myself for 
double, treble the money! I wish I had the regula- 
tion of such a farm, — yet I am no farmer general. 
But I should like to farm you, and so I will tell Dr. 
Burney. I mean to address him; I have a speech 
ready for the first opportunity." 

He then told me his Life of Dr. Johnson was 
nearly printed, and took a proof-sheet out of his 
pocket to show me; with crowds passing and repass- 
ing, knowing me well, and staring well at him; for 
we were now at the iron rails of the Queen's Lodge. 

I stopped; I could not ask him in: I saw he ex- 
pected it, and was reduced to apologize, and tell him 
I must attend the Queen immediately. 

He uttered again stronger and stronger exhorta- 
tions for my retreat, accompanied by expressions 
which I was obliged to check in their bud. But find- 
ing he had no chance for entering, he stopped me 
again at the gate, and said he would read me a page 
of his work. 

There was no refusing this ; and he began, with a 
letter of Dr. Johnson's to himself. He read it in 
strong imitation of the Doctor's manner, very well, 
and not caricature. 1 But Mrs. Schwellenberg was at 

1 Boswell was one of the best of the numerous mimics of John- 
son, even rivalling Garrick. Hannah More tells how she was 
once "the umpire in a trial of skill between Garrick and Boswell, 
which could most nearly imitate Dr. Johnson's manner. I re- 
member I gave it for Boswell in familiar conversation, and for 
Garrick in reciting poetry." {Miscellanies, 2. 195.) 



204 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1790-91 

her window, a crowd was gathering to stand round 
the rails, and the King and Queen and Royal family 
now approached from the Terrace. I made a rather 
quick apology, and, with a step as quick as my now 
weakened limbs have left in my power, I hurried to 
my apartment. 

You may suppose I had inquiries enough, from all 
around, of " Who was the gentleman I was talking to 
at the rails?" And an injunction rather frank not 
to admit him beyond those limits. 

However, I saw him again the next morning, in 
coming from early prayers, and he again renewed his 
remonstrance, and his petition for my letters of Dr. 
Johnson. 

I cannot consent to print private letters, even of a 
man so justly celebrated, when addressed to myself; 
no, I shall hold sacred those revered and but too 
scarce testimonies of the high honour his kindness 
conferred upon me. One letter I have from him that 
is a masterpiece of elegance and kindness united. 
'Twas his last. 1 

June 5. — Mr. Turbulent 2 at this time outstayed 
the tea-party one evening, not for his former rho- 
domontading, but to seriously and earnestly advise 
me to resign. My situation, he said, was evidently 
death to me. 

1 The famous letter reading, " Mr. Johnson who came home last 
night, sends his respects to Dear Doctor Burney, and all the dear 
Burneys little and great. Nov. 17th 1784." It was his last letter 
to the Burneys, not, as has been often inferred, the last he ever 
wrote. 

2 See above, p. 195. He prided himself upon being a wag. 



179 1 ] King George Reads the Life 205 

He was eager to inquire of me who was Mrs. 
Lenox? He had been reading, like all the rest of 
the world, Boswell's Life of Dr. Johnson, and the 
preference there expressed of Mrs. Lenox to all 
other females 1 had filled him with astonishment, as 
he had never even heard her name. 

These occasional sallies of Dr. Johnson, uttered 
from local causes and circumstances, but all retailed 
verbatim by Mr. Boswell, are filling all sort of 
readers with amaze, except the small party to whom 
Dr. Johnson was known, and who, by acquaintance 
with the power of the moment over his unguarded 
conversation, know how little of his solid opinion 
was to be gathered from his accidental assertions. 2 

The King, who was now also reading this work, 3 
applied to me for explanations without end. Every 
night at this period he entered the Queen's dressing 
room, and delayed Her Majesty's proceedings by a 
length of discourse with me upon this subject. All 
that flowed from himself was constantly full of the 
goodness and benevolence of his character; and I 
was never so happy as in the opportunity thus 

*"I dined yesterday at Mrs. Garrick's, with Mrs. Carter, Miss 
Hannah More, and Miss Fanny Burney. Three such women 
are not to be found: I know not where I could find a fourth, 
except Mrs. Lennox, who is superior to them all." (Life, 4.275.) 
See also above, p. 49. 

2 It is of course the proud distinction of Boswell's Life that it 
records not only the solid opinions but the accidental assertions, not 
only the general and the impersonal, but the peculiar and dis- 
tinguishing. Had Miss Burney but realized it, her own Diary 
was at its best when it most nearly resembled Boswell's greater 
work. 

* Among the passages that must have interested King George 
is the description of his own conversation with Johnson. (Life, 
2. 3 3ff.) 



206 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1791-92 

graciously given me of vindicating, in instances al- 
most innumerable, the serious principles and various 
excellences of Dr. Johnson from the clouds so fre- 
quently involving and darkening them, in narrations 
so little calculated for any readers who were stran- 
gers to his intrinsic worth, and therefore worked 
upon and struck by what was faulty in his temper 
and manners. 

I regretted not having strength to read this work 
to Her Majesty myself. It was an honour I should 
else have certainly received; for so much wanted 
clearing! so little was understood! However, the 
Queen frequently condescended to read over passages 
and anecdotes which perplexed or offended her; and 
there were none I had not a fair power to soften or 
to justify. Dear and excellent Dr. Johnson ! I have 
never forgot nor neglected his injunction given me 
when he was ill — to stand by him and support him, 
and not hear him abused when he was no more, and 
could not defend himself ! but little — little did I think 
it would ever fall to my lot to vindicate him to his 
King and Queen. 

This day had been long engaged for breakfasting 
with Mrs. Dickenson and dining with Mrs. Ord. 

The breakfast guests were Mr. Langton, Mr. 
Foote, Mr. Dickenson, jun., a cousin, and a very 
agreeable and pleasing man; Lady Herries, Miss 
Dickenson, another cousin, and Mr. Boswell. 

This last was the object of the morning. I felt 
a strong sensation of that displeasure which his lo- 



1792] Boswell's Imitation of Johnson 207 

quacious communications of every weakness and in- 
firmity of the first and greatest good man of these 
times have awakened in me at his first sight; and 
though his address to me was courteous in the ex- 
treme, and he made a point of sitting next me, I felt 
an indignant disposition to a nearly forbidding re- 
serve and silence. How many starts of passion and 
prejudice has he blackened into record, that else might 
have sunk, for ever forgotten, under the preponder- 
ance of weightier virtues and excellences ! 

Angry, however, as I have long been with him, he 
soon insensibly conquered, though he did not soften 
me : there is so little of ill design or ill nature in him, 
he is so open and forgiving for all that is said in re- 
turn that he soon forced me to consider him in a less 
serious light, and change my resentment against his 
treachery into something like commiseration of his 
levity; and before we parted, we became good friends. 
.There is no resisting great good-humour, 1 be what 
will in the opposite scale. 

He entertained us all as if hired for that purpose, 
telling stories of Dr. Johnson, and acting them with 
incessant buffoonery. I told him frankly that if he 
turned him into ridicule by caricature, I should fly" 
the premises : he assured me he would not, and indeed, 
his imitations, though comic to excess, were so far 
from caricature that he omitted a thousand gesticu- 
lations which I distinctly remember. 

Mr. Langton told some stories himself 2 in imita- 

1 See above, pp. 201 ff. 

2 He was one of Boswell's most fertile sources of Johnsonian in- 
formation. See Life, 4. 1-2. 



208 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1792 

tion of Dr. Johnson; but they became him less than 
Mr. Boswell, and only reminded of what Dr. John- 
son himself once said to me — " Every man has some 
time in his life, an ambition to be a wag." If Mr. 
Langton had repeated anything from his truly great 
friend quietly, it would far better have accorded with 
his own serious and respectable character. 







m^^^^f 4 ^/^^ 
















The proof of the frontispiece to Boswell's Life, with MS. 
note in Boswell's handwriting 

(First state of an engraving by Heath, from a portrait by Reynolds) 








, 




k 






t7^Z-^ 



Second state of Heath's engraving, with note by Boswell 



J 777?] A Party in St. Martin's Street 209 



EXTRACTS FROM THE MEMOIRS OF DR. BURNEY * 

A few months 2 after the Streathamite morning 
visit to St. Martin's-street that has been narrated, 3 
an evening party was arranged by Dr. Burney, for 
bringing thither again Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, 
at the desire of Mr. and Mrs. Greville and Mrs. 
Crewe ; 4 who wished under the quiet roof of Dr. 
Burney, to make acquaintance with these celebrated 
personages. 

The party consisted of Dr. Johnson, Mr. and Mrs. 
Greville, Mrs. Crewe, Mr., Mrs., and Miss Thrale; 
Signor Piozzi, Mr. Charles Burney, the Doctor, his 
wife and four of his daughters. 

1 These Memoirs, published in 1832, when Mme. D'Arblay was 
eighty years old, repose largely upon her diaries and letters, and 
often repeat — invariably in inferior form — the material of those 
earlier works. Much of the work on Johnson in the Memoirs 
is therefore not given here, because the superior version has already 
been given. At times Mme. D'Arblay seems to be using ma- 
terial in the diaries that she destroyed or material that has never 
been reprinted; sometimes she seems to be writing largely from 
memory; at all times she is careful to dress up her material in a 
style that Macaulay stigmatized as a "new Euphuism," a style that 
reminds us now of Johnson at his worst, and now of Mr. Wilkins 
Micawber. It is needless to point out that these reminiscences 
are far less reliable than the strictly contemporary records that 
have here preceded them. 

2 I have ventured to condense the following account, which is 
unusually tumid, even for Mme. D'Arblay. 

3 See above, p. 1. Mme. D'Arblay had retold the story in the 
Memoirs. 

4 Mr. Greville was the representative of a distinguished family 
and the author of Maxims, Characters, and Reflections, a book 
praised by Boswell. His wife was a poetess in a small way, the 
author of an Ode to Indifference. Mrs. Crewe was their daughter. 



210 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1777? 

Mr. Greville, in manner, mien, and high personal 
presentation, was still the superb Mr. Greville of 
other days. 

The first step taken by Dr. Burney for social con- 
ciliation, which was calling for a cantata from Signor 
Piozzi, turned out, on the contrary, the herald to gen- 
eral discomfiture ; for it cast a damp of delay upon the 
mental gladiators. 

Piozzi, a first-rate singer, whose voice was de- 
liriously sweet, and whose expression was perfect, 
sung in his very best manner, from his desire to do 
honour to 11 Capo di Casa 1 ; but il Capo di Casa and 
his family alone did justice to his strains : neither the 
Grevilles nor the Thrales heeded music beyond what 
belonged to it as fashion: the expectations of the 
Grevilles were all occupied by Dr. Johnson. 

Mr. Greville, who had been curious to see, and 
who intended to examine this leviathan of literature, 
as Dr. Johnson was called in the current pamphlets 
of the day, considered it to be his proper post to open 
the campaign of the conversazione. But he had heard 
so much, from his friend Topham Beauclerk, whose 
highest honour was classing himself as one of the 
friends of Dr. Johnson, that he was cautious how to 
encounter so tremendous a literary athletic. He 
thought it, therefore, most consonant to his dignity to 
leave his own character as author in the background; 
and to take the field with the aristocratic armour of 
pedigree and distinction. Aloof, therefore, he kept 
from all; and assuming his most supercilious air of 

1 Dr. Burney. 



x 777?] Johnson Not Inclined to Converse 211 

distant superiority, planted himself, immovable as a 
noble statue, upon the hearth, as if a stranger to the 
whole set. 

Mrs. Greville would willingly have entered the 
lists herself, but that she naturally concluded Dr. 
Johnson would make the advances. 

And Mrs. Crewe, to whom all this seemed odd and 
unaccountable, but to whom, also, from her love of 
anything unusual, it was secretly amusing, sat per- 
fectly passive in silent observance. 

Dr. Johnson, himself, had come with the full in- 
tention of passing two or three hours, with well- 
chosen companions, in social elegance. His own ex- 
pectations, indeed, were small — for what could meet 
their expansion? his wish, however, to try all sorts 
and conditions of persons, as far as belonged to their 
intellect, was unqualified and unlimited; and gave to 
him nearly as much desire to see others, as his great 
fame gave to others to see his eminent self. But 
his signal peculiarity in regard to society, could not 
be surmised by strangers; and was as yet unknown 
even to Dr. Burney. This was that, notwithstanding 
the superior powers with which he followed up every 
given subject, he scarcely ever began one himself; 1 
though the masterly manner in which, as soon as any 
topic was started, he seized it in all its bearings, had 
so much the air of belonging to the leader of the dis- 
course, that this singularity was unnoticed and un- 
suspected, save by the experienced observation of long 
years of acquaintance. 

1 See above, pp. 3, 183. 



212 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1777? 

Not, therefore, being summoned to hold forth, he 
remained silent; composedly at first, and afterwards 
abstractedly. 

Dr. Burney now began to feel considerably em- 
barrassed; though still he cherished hopes of ultimate 
relief from some auspicious circumstance. Vainly, 
however, he sought to elicit some observations that 
might lead to disserting discourse; all his attempts 
received only quiet, acquiescent replies, " signifying 
nothing." Every one was awaiting some spontaneous 
opening from Dr. Johnson. 

Mrs. Thrale, of the whole coterie, was alone at her 
ease. She grew tired of the music, and yet more 
tired of remaining a mere cipher in the company. 
Her spirits rose rebelliously above her control; and, 
in a fit of utter recklessness of what might be thought 
of her by her fine new acquaintance, she suddenly, 
but softly, arose, and stealing on tip-toe behind Signor 
Piozzi ; who was accompanying himself on the piano- 
forte to an animated arria parlante, with his back 
to the company, and his face to the wall; she ludi- 
crously began imitating him by squaring her elbows, 
elevating them with ecstatic shrugs of the shoulders, 
and casting up her eyes, while languishingly reclining 
her head; as if she were not less enthusiastically, 
though somewhat more suddenly, struck with the 
transports of harmony than himself. 

[This grotesque ebullition of ungovernable gaiety 
was not perceived by Dr. Johnson, who faced the fire, 
with his back to the performer and the instrument. 
But the amusement which such an unlooked for ex- 



1777?] Mrs. Thrale and Piozzi 213 

hibition caused to the party, was momentary; for 
Dr. Burney, shocked lest the poor Signor should 
observe, and be hurt by, this mimicry, glided gently 
round to Mrs. Thrale, and, with something between 
pleasantry and severity, whispered to her, " Because, 
Madam, you have no ear for music, will you destroy 
the attention of all who, in that one point, are other- 
wise gifted? " 

It was now that shone the brightest attribute of 
Mrs. Thrale, sweetness of temper. She took this 
rebuke with a candour, and a sense of its justice the 
most amiable: she nodded her approbation of the 
admonition; and, returning to her chair, quietly sat 
down, as she afterwards said, like a pretty little miss, 
for the remainder of one of the most humdrum even- 
ings that she had ever passed. 

Strange, indeed, strange and most strange, the 
event considered, was the opening intercourse between 
Mrs. Thrale and Signor Piozzi. Little could she 
imagine that the person whom she was thus called 
away from holding up to ridicule, would become but a 
few years afterwards, the idol of her fancy and the 
lord of her destiny! 

The most innocent person of all that went forward 
was the laurelled chief of the little association, Dr. 
Johnson ; who, though his love for Dr. Burney made 
it a pleasure to him to have been included in the in- 
vitation, marvelled, probably, by this time, since un- 
called upon to distinguish himself, why he had been 
bidden to the meeting. But as the evening advanced, 
he wrapt himself up in his own thoughts, in a manner 



214 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1777? 

it was frequently less difficult to him to do than to let 
alone, and became completely absorbed in silent rumi- 
nation: sustaining, nevertheless, a grave and com- 
posed demeanour, with an air by no means wanting in 
dignity any more than in urbanity. 

Very unexpectedly, however, ere the evening closed, 
he shewed himself alive to what surrounded him, by 
one of those singular starts of vision, that made him 
seem at times, — though purblind to things in com- 
mon, and to things inanimate, — gifted with an eye 
of instinct for espying any action or position that he 
thought merited reprehension: for, all at once, look- 
ing fixedly on Mr. Greville, who, without much self- 
denial, the night being very cold, pertinaciously kept 
his station before the chimney-piece, he exclaimed: 
11 If it were not for depriving the ladies of the fire, — 
I should like to stand upon the hearth myself ! " 1 

A smile gleamed upon every face at this pointed 
speech. Mr. Greville tried to smile himself, though 
faintly and scoffingly. He tried, also, to hold to his 
post, as if determined to disregard so cavalier a liberty : 
but the sight of every eye around him cast down, and 
every visage struggling vainly to appear serious, dis- 
concerted him ; and though, for two or three minutes, 
he disdained to move, the awkwardness of the general 
pause impelled him, ere long, to glide back to his 
chair; but he rang the bell with force as he passed it, 
to order his carriage. 

It is probable that Dr. Johnson had observed the 

l Cf. Charlotte Burney's account of the same event, given below, 
p. 245. 



1780] Proofs of the Lives of the Poets 215 

high air and mien of Mr. Greville, and had purposely- 
brought forth that remark to disenchant him from his 
self-consequence. 

The party then broke up. 1 

While this charming work 2 was in progress, when 
only the Thrale family and its nearly adopted guests, 
the two Burneys, were assembled, Dr. Johnson, would 
frequently produce one of its proof-sheets to em- 
bellish 3 the breakfast table, which was always in the 
library; and was, certainly, the most sprightly and 
agreeable meeting of the day; for then, as no stran- 
gers were present to stimulate exertion, or provoke 
rivalry, argument was not urged on by the mere spirit 
of victory; it was instigated only by such truisms as 
could best bring forth that conflict of pros and cons 
which elucidates opposing opinions. Wit was not 
flashed with the keen sting of satire; yet it elicited 
not less gaiety from sparkling with an unwounding 
brilliancy, which brightened without inflaming, every 
eye, and charmed without tingling, every ear. 

These proof-sheets Mrs. Thrale was permitted to 
read aloud ; and the discussions to which they led were 
in the highest degree entertaining. Dr. Burney wist- 
fully desired to possess one of them; but left to his 
daughter the risk of the petition. A hint, however, 

1 Johnson, it appears, met Greville again in 1780 at Dr. Burney's 
{Letters, 2. 146), but no account of the meeting has been preserved. 

2 Johnson's Lives of the Poets. 

3 Of Mme. D'Arblay's later style, Sir Leslie Stephen well says 
(D.N.B.): "In the Memoirs of Dr. Burney she adopted a pecu- 
liar magniloquence which may be equally regarded as absurd or 
delicious." 



li6 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1780 

proved sufficient, and was understood not alone with 
compliance, but vivacity. Boswell, Dr. Johnson said, 
had engaged Frank Barber, his negro servant, to col- 
lect and preserve all the proof-sheets ; * but though it 
had not been without the knowledge, it was without 
the order 1 or the interference of their author; to the 
present solicitor, therefore, willingly and without 
scruple, he now offered an entire life; adding, with a 
benignant smile, " Choose your poet! " 

Without scruple, also, was the acceptance; and, 
without hesitation, the choice was Pope. And that 
not merely because, next to Shakespeare himself, 
Pope draws human characters the most veridically, 
perhaps, of any poetic delineator; but for yet an- 
other reason. Dr. Johnson composed with so ready 
an accuracy, that he sent his copy to the press un- 
read ; 2 reserving all his corrections for the proof- 
sheets: and, consequently, as not even Dr. Johnson 
could read twice without ameliorating some passages, 
his proof-sheets were at times liberally marked with 
changes; and, as the Museum copy of Pope's Trans- 
lation of the Iliad, from which Dr. Johnson has given 
many examples, contains abundant emendations by 
Pope, the Memorialist 3 secured at once, on the 
same page, the marginal alterations and second 
thoughts of that great author, and of his great 
biographer. 4 

1 Life, 3. 371. There Boswell distinctly says that Johnson has 
permitted him to preserve the proof-sheets. 

2 An old habit. (Cf. Life, i. 203, 3.42, and above, p. 71, note.) 
8 Mme. D'Arblay's unostentatious way of referring to herself. 

4 This book is now in the possession of Mr. R. B. Adam, of 
Buffalo, N. Y. 



X « 3 



POPE, 

ALEXANDER POPE was 
born in London, May 22, 1688, 
of parents whofe rank or ftation was 
never afcertained : we are informed that 
they were of gentle blood; that his father 
was "of a family of which the £arl of. 
Downe was the head, and that his mo° 
ther was the "daughter of William Tur« 
ner, Efquire, of York, who had like-. 
wife three fons, one of whom had the* 
honour of being kille*iflnd the other of 
dying in the fervice of Gharles theFirft; 
A the 



A&7 



First page of the proof-sheets of Johnson's Life of Pope, with 
correction in Johnson's handwriting, and a note by Miss 
Burney 



178 1 ] Sam Johnson an Ugly Dog 217 

When the book was published, Dr. Johnson 
brought to Streatham a complete set, handsomely 
bound, of the Works of the Poets, as well as his own 
Prefaces, to present to Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. And 
then, telling this Memorialist that to the King, and 
to the chiefs of Streatham alone he could offer so 
large a tribute, he most kindly placed before her a 
bound copy of his own part of the work; in the title 
page of which he gratified her earnest request by writ- 
ing her name, and " From the Author." 

After which, at her particular solicitation, he gave 
her a small engraving of his portrait from the picture 
of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 1 And while, some time after- 
wards, she was examining it at a distant table, Dr. 
Johnson, in passing across the room, stopt to dis- 
cover by what she was occupied; which he no sooner 
discerned, than he began see-sawing for a moment or 
two in silence ; and then with a ludicrous half laugh, 
peeping over her shoulder, he called out : " Ah ha ! — 
Sam Johnson! — I see thee! — and an ugly dog thou 
art!" 

He even extended his kindness to a remembrance 
of Mr. Bewley, the receiver and preserver of the 
wisp of a Bolt-court hearth-broom, 2 as a relic of the 

1 As Sir Joshua painted at least six different portraits of Johnson, 
many of which were engraved before the death of Johnson, this 
is no adequate description, as Mme. D'Arblay ought to have known. 
It is probable that she refers to the frontispiece used in the edi- 
tion of the Lives, which is reproduced herewith. 

2 This occurred in 1760. I quote the account of it from the first 
volume of the Memoirs, p. 127. "While awaiting the appearance 
of his revered host, Mr. Burney recollected a supplication from the 
philosopher of Massingham [Mr. Bewley] to be indulged with 
some token, however trifling or common, of his friend's admission 



218 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1781 

Author of the Rambler; which anecdote Dr. Burney 
had ventured to confess : and Dr. Johnson now, with 
his compliments, sent a set of the Prefaces to St. 
Martin's-street, directed, 

"From the Broom Gentleman": 
which Mr. Bewley received with rapturous gratitude. 

Dr. Johnson, in compliment to his friend Dr. Bur- 
ney, and by no means incurious himself to see the 
hermit of Chessington, 1 immediately descended to 
meet Mr. Crisp; and to aid Mrs. Thrale, who gave 
him a vivacious reception, to do the honours of 
Streatham. 

The meeting, nevertheless, to the great chagrin of 
Dr. Burney, produced neither interest nor pleasure: 
for Dr. Johnson, though courteous in demeanour and 
looks, with evident solicitude to shew respect to Mr. 

to the habitation of this great man. Vainly, however, Mr. Burney 
looked around the apartment for something that he might in- 
noxiously purloin. Nothing but coarse and necessary furniture 
was in view; nothing portable — not even a wafer, the cover of 
a letter, or a split pen, was to be caught; till at length, he had 
the happiness to espie an old hearth broom in the chimney-corner. 
From this, with hasty glee, he cut off a bristly wisp, which he 
hurried into his pocket-book; and afterwards formally folded in 
silver paper, and forwarded, in a frank to Lord Oxford, for Mr. 
Bewley; by whom the burlesque offering was hailed with good- 
humoured acclamation, and preserved through life." 

I suspect that this delightfully inflated bit of narrative reposes 
entirely upon the following brief entry in Miss Burney's Early 
Diary, " Mr. Bewley accepted as a present or relic, a tuft of his 
hearth-broom, which my father secretly cut off, and sent to him 
in a frank. He thinks it more precious than pearls." (i. 169.) 

1 " Chessington Hall, a rambling and ruinous old house between 
Kingston and Epsom. At this date, though on high ground, it 
stood in the middle of a wild and almost trackless common, which 
separated it effectually from the passing stranger." (Dobson, 
Fanny Burney, 13.) 




Frontispiece to the Lives of the Poets, 178 1 



1779?] Johnson and Mr. Crisp 219 

Crisp, was grave and silent ; and whenever Dr. John- 
son did not make the charm of conversation, he only 
marred it by his presence; from the general fear he 
incited, that if he spoke not, he might listen; and 
that if he listened — he might reprove. 

Ease, therefore, was wanting; without which noth- 
ing in society can be flowing or pleasing. The Ches- 
singtonian conceived, that he had lived too long away 
from the world x to start any subject that might not, 
to the Streathamites, be trite and out of date; and 
the Streathamites believed that they had lived in it so 
much longer, that the current talk of the day might, 
to the Chessingtonian, seem unintelligible jargon: 
while each hoped that the sprightly Dr. Burney would 
find the golden mean by which both parties might be 
brought into play. 

But Dr. Burney, who saw in the kind looks and 
complacency of Dr. Johnson intentional good-will to 
the meeting, flattered himself that the great philolo- 
gist was but waiting for an accidental excitement, to 
fasten upon some topic of general use or importance, 
and then to describe or discuss it, with the full powers 
of his great mind. 

Dr. Johnson, however, either in health or in spirits, 
was, unfortunately, oppressed; and, for once, was 
more desirous to hear than to be heard. 2 

Mr. Crisp, therefore, lost, by so unexpected a 
taciturnity, this fair and promising opportunity for 

1 He had retired to Chessington nearly thirty years before. 

2 Miss Burney herself, however, has repeatedly observed (above, 
PP- 3> r 83, 211) that if Johnson was to talk with brilliancy, it was 
necessary that he be " drawn out." 



220 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779? 

developing and enjoying the celebrated and extraordi- 
nary colloquial abilities of Dr. Johnson and finished 
the visit with much disappointment; lowered also, and 
always, in his spirits by parting from his tenderly 
attached young companion. 

Dr. Burney had afterwards, however, the consola- 
tion to find that Mr. Crisp had impressed even Dr. 
Johnson with a strong admiration of his knowledge 
and capacity; for in speaking of him in the evening 
to Mr. Thrale, who had been absent, the Doctor em- 
phatically said, " Sir, it is a very singular thing to 
see a man with all his powers so much alive, when 
he has so long shut himself up from the world. Such 
readiness of conception, quickness of recollection, 
facility of following discourse started by others, in a 
man who has so long had only the past to feed upon, 
are rarely to be met with. Now, for my part," added 
he, laughing, " that / should be ready or even uni- 
versal, is no wonder; for my dear little mistress 
here/' turning to Mrs. Thrale, " keeps all my facul- 
ties in constant play." 

Mrs. Thrale then said that nothing, to her, was so 
striking, as that a man who had so long retired from 
the world, should so delicately have preserved its 
forms and courtesies, as to appear equally well bred 
with any elegant member of society who had not 
quitted it for a week. 

Inexpressibly gratifying to Dr. Burney was the 
award of such justice, from such judges, to his best 
and dearest loved friend. 

From this time forward, Dr. Burney could scarcely 



1779] Boswell 221 

recover his daughter from Streatham, even for a few 
days, without a friendly battle. A sportively comic 
exaggeration of Dr. Johnson's upon this flattering 
hostility was current at Streatham, made in answer 
to Dr. Burney's saying, upon a resistance to her de- 
parture for St. Martin's-street in which Dr. Johnson 
had strongly joined, " I must really take her away, 
Sir, I must indeed; she has been from home so long." 
" Long? no, Sir! I do not think long," cried the 
Doctor, see-sawing, and seizing both her hands, as 
if purporting to detain her: " Sir! I would have her 
Always come — and Never go ! " 

When next, after this adjuration, Dr. Burney 
took the Memorialist back to Streatham, 1 he found 
there, recently arrived from Scotland, Mr. Boswell; 
whose sprightly Corsican tour, and heroic, almost 
Quixotic pursuit of General Paoli, joined to the tour 
to the Hebrides with Dr. Johnson, made him an ob- 
ject himself of considerable attention. 

He spoke the Scotch accent strongly, 2 though by 
no means so as to affect, even slightly, his intelligi- 
bility to an English ear. He had an odd mock 
solemnity of tone and manner, that he had acquired 
imperceptibly from constantly thinking of and imi- 
tating Dr. Johnson; whose own solemnity, neverthe- 
less, far from mock, was the result of pensive rumina- 

1 If Mme. D'Arblay's reminiscences are chronologically arranged, 
this event probably took place on Monday, March 29, 1779. (See 
Life, 3. 377.) Miss Burney's Diary has but one entry for March, 
1779, but at that time she was at Streatham. {Diary, 1.211.) 

2 Boswell was particularly proud that he did not. 



222 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

tion. There was, also, something slouching in the 
gait and dress of Mr. Boswell, that wore an air, 
ridiculously enough, of purporting to personify the 
same model. His clothes were always too large for 
him; his hair, or wig, was constantly in a state of 
negligence; and he never for a moment sat still or 
upright upon a chair. Every look and movement 
displayed either intentional or involuntary imitation. 
Yet certainly it was not meant as caricature; for his 
heart, almost even to idolatry, was in his reverence 
of Dr. Johnson. 

Dr. Burney was often surprised that this kind of 
farcical similitude escaped the notice of the Doctor; 
but attributed his missing it to a high superiority over 
any such suspicion, as much as to his near-sightedness ; 
for fully was Dr. Burney persuaded, that had any 
detection of such imitation taken place, Dr. Johnson, 
who generally treated Mr. Boswell as a schoolboy, 1 
whom, without the smallest ceremony, he pardoned 
or rebuked, alternately, would so indignantly have 
been provoked, as to have instantaneously inflicted 
upon him some mark of his displeasure. And equally 
he was persuaded that Mr. Boswell, however shocked 
and even inflamed in receiving it, would soon, from 
his deep veneration, have thought it justly incurred; 2 

1 In 1779 Boswell was in his thirty-ninth year, Johnson in his 
seventieth. 

2 This is unfair; Boswell was not servile in his quarrels and 
reconciliations with Johnson. (See, in particular, Life, 3. 338.) Al- 
together too much sport has been made of Boswell's devotion to 
Johnson. It is wrong to consider him as having foisted himself 
repeatedly upon Johnson, especially when we remember Johnson's 
pathetic appeals to his friends to keep him in mind, and to be near 
him as often as possible. 



J 779] Johnson and Boswell Together 223 

and, after a day or two of pouting and sullenness, 
would have compromised the matter by one of his 
customary simple apologies, of " Pray, Sir, forgive 
me!" 

Dr. Johnson, though often irritated by the officious 
importunity of Mr. Boswell, was really touched by 
his attachment. It was indeed surprising, and even 
affecting, to remark the pleasure with which this great 
man accepted personal kindness, even from the sim- 
plest of mankind ; and the grave formality with which 
he acknowledged it even to the meanest. Possibly it 
was what he most prized, because what he could least 
command; for personal partiality hangs upon lighter 
and slighter qualities than those which earn solid ap- 
probation; but of this, if he had least command, he 
had also least want; his towering superiority of in- 
tellect elevating him above all competitors, and regu- 
larly establishing him, wherever he appeared, as the 
first Being of the society. 

As Mr. Boswell was at Streatham only upon a 
morning visit, a collation was ordered, to which all 
were assembled. Mr. Boswell was preparing to take 
a seat that he seemed, by prescription, to consider as 
his own, next to Dr. Johnson; but Mr. Seward, who 
was present, waived his hand for Mr. Boswell to 
move further on, saying, with a smile, " Mr. Boswell, 
that seat is Miss Burney's." 

He stared, amazed : the asserted claimant was new 
and unknown to him, and he appeared by no means 
pleased to resign his prior rights. But, after looking 
round for a minute or two, with an important air 



224 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

of demanding the meaning of this innovation, and 
receiving no satisfaction, he reluctantly, almost re- 
sentfully, got another chair; and placed it at the back 
of the shoulder of Dr. Johnson; while this new and 
unheard of rival quietly seated herself as if not hear- 
ing what was passing; for she shrunk from the ex- 
planation that she feared might ensue, as she saw a 
smile stealing over every countenance, that of Dr. 
Johnson himself not excepted, at the discomfiture and 
surprise of Mr. Boswell. 

Mr. Boswell, however, was so situated as not to 
remark it in the Doctor; and of every one else, when 
in that presence, he was unobservant, if not con- 
temptuous. In truth when he met with Dr. Johnson, 
he commonly forbore even answering anything that 
was said, or attending to anything that went for- 
ward, lest he should miss the smallest sound from 
that voice to which he paid such exclusive, though 
merited homage. But the moment that voice burst 
forth, the attention which it excited in Mr. Boswell 
amounted almost to pain. His eyes goggled with 
eagerness; he leant his ear almost on the shoulder 
of the Doctor; and his mouth dropt open to catch 
every syllable that might be uttered: nay, he seemed 
not only to dread losing a word, but to be anxious 
not to miss a breathing; as if hoping from it, latently, 
or mystically, some information. 

But when, in a few minutes, Dr. Johnson, whose 
eye did not follow him, and who had concluded him 
to be at the other end of the table, said something 
gaily and good-humouredly, by the appellation of 



1779] Rebuke of a Hero-Worshiper 225 

Bozzy; and discovered, by the sound of the reply, 
that Bozzy had planted himself, as closely as he 
could, behind and between the elbows of the new 
usurper and his own, the Doctor turned angrily 
round upon him, and clapping his hand rather 
loudly upon his knee, said, in a tone of displeasure, 
"What do you do there, Sir? — Go to the table, 
Sir!" 

Mr. Boswell instantly, and with an air of affright, 
obeyed: and there was something so unusual in such 
humble submission to so imperious a command, that 
another smile gleamed its way across every mouth, 
except that of the Doctor and of Mr. Boswell; who 
now, very unwillingly, took a distant seat. 

But, ever restless when not at the side of Dr. John- 
son, he presently recollected something that he wished 
to exhibit, and, hastily rising, was running away in 
its search; when the Doctor, calling after him, au- 
thoritatively said: "What are you thinking of, Sir? 
Why do you get up before the cloth is removed? — 
Come back to your place, Sir! " 

Again, and with equal obsequiousness, Mr. Bos- 
well did as he was bid; when the Doctor, pursing 
his lips, not to betray rising risibility, muttered half 
to himself: " Running about in the middle of meals! 
— One would take you for a Branghton ! — " 

" A Branghton, Sir? " repeated Mr. Boswell, with 
earnestness; " what is a Branghton, Sir? " 

" Where have you lived, Sir," cried the Doctor, 
laughing, " and what company have you kept, not to 
know that?" 



226 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779-82 

Mr. Boswell now, doubly curious, yet always ap- 
prehensive of falling into some disgrace with Dr. 
Johnson, said, in a low tone, which he knew the 
Doctor could not hear, to Mrs. Thrale: "Pray, 
Ma'am, what's a Branghton? — Do me the favour to 
tell me? — Is it some animal hereabouts?" 

Mrs. Thrale only heartily laughed, but without an- 
swering: as she saw one of her guests uneasily fear- 
ful of an explanation. But Mr. Seward cried, u I'll 
tell you, Boswell, — I'll tell you! — if you will walk 
with me into the paddock; only let us wait till the 
table is cleared; or I shall be taken for a Branghton, 
too ! " 

They soon went off together; and Mr. Boswell, 
no doubt, was fully informed of the road that had 
led to the usurpation by which he had thus been 
annoyed. But the Branghton fabricator took 
care to mount to her chamber * ere they re- 
turned ; and did not come down till Mr. Boswell was 
gone. 

Dr. Burney, when the Cecilian 2 business was ar- 
ranged, again conveyed the Memorialist to Streatham. 
No further reluctance on his part, nor exhortations 
on that of Mr. Crisp, sought to withdraw her from 
that spot, where, while it was in its glory, they had 
so recently, and with pride, seen her distinguished. 
And truly eager was her own haste, when mistress of 

1 Miss Burney, like Evelina, was for ever "mounting to her 
chamber." 
2 Cecilia was published in July, 1782. 



1782] Alteration in Mrs. Thrale 227 

her time, to try once more to soothe those sorrows and 
chagrins in which she had most largely participated, 
by answering to the call, which had never ceased 
tenderly to pursue her, of return. 

With alacrity, therefore, though not with gaiety, 
they re-entered the Streatham gates — but they soon 
perceived that they found not what they had left! 

Changed, indeed, was Streatham ! Gone its chief, 1 
and changed his relict ! unaccountably, incomprehen- 
sibly, indefinably changed ! She was absent and agi- 
tated; not two minutes could she remain in a place; 
she scarcely seemed to know whom she saw; her 
speech was so hurried it was hardly intelligible; her 
eyes were assiduously averted from those who sought 
them, and her smiles were faint and forced. 

The Doctor, who had no opportunity to communi- 
cate his remarks, went back, as usual, to town; where 
soon also, with his tendency, as usual, to view every- 
thing cheerfully, he revolved in his mind the new 
cares and avocations by which Mrs. Thrale was per- 
plexed; and persuaded himself that the alteration 
which had struck him, was simply the effect of her 
new position. 

Too near, however, were the observations of the 
Memorialist for so easy a solution. The change in 
her friend was equally dark and melancholy; yet not 
personal to the Memorialist was any alteration. No 
affection there was lessened; no kindness cooled; on 
the contrary, Mrs. Thrale was more fervent in both; 
more touchingly tender; and softened in disposition 

1 See above, p. 122, note. 



228 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

beyond all expression, all description: but in every- 
thing else, — in health, spirits, comfort, general looks, 
and manner, the change was at once universal and 
deplorable. All was misery and mystery : misery the 
most restless; mystery the most unfathomable. 

The mystery, however, soon ceased; the solicita- 
tions of the most affectionate sympathy could not long 
be urged in vain; — the mystery passed away — not so 
the misery ! That, when revealed, was but to both 
parties doubled, from the different feelings set in 
movement by its disclosure. 

The astonishing history of the enigmatical attach- 
ment which impelled Mrs. Thrale to her second mar- 
riage, is now as well known as her name; but its 
details belong not to the history of Dr. Burney; 
though the fact too deeply interested him, and was 
too intimately felt in his social habits, to be passed 
over in silence in any memoirs of his life. 

But while ignorant yet of its cause, more and more 
struck he became at every meeting, by a species of 
general alienation which pervaded all around at 
Streatham. His visits, which, heretofore, had seemed 
galas to Mrs. Thrale, were now begun and ended al- 
most without notice ; and all others, — Dr. Johnson not 
excepted, — were cast into the same gulph of general 
neglect, or f orgetfulness ; — all, — save singly this 
Memorialist! — to whom, the fatal secret once ac- 
knowledged, Mrs. Thrale clung for comfort ; * though 

1 The fact that Mrs. Thrale communicated the story of her pas- 
sion for Piozzi to Miss Burney under pledge of secrecy undoubtedly 
accounts for the absence from the Diary of any account parallel to 
this. 



1782] Mrs. Thrale's Passion for Piozzi 229 

she saw, and generously pardoned, how wide she was 
from meeting approbation. 1 

In this retired, though far from tranquil manner, 
passed many months ; during which, with the acquies- 
cent consent of the Doctor, his daughter, wholly de- 
voted to her unhappy friend, remained uninterrupt- 
edly at sad and altered Streatham ; sedulously avoiding 
what at other times she most wished, a tete-a-tete with 
her father. Bound by ties indissoluble of honour not 
to betray a trust that, in the ignorance of her pity, 
she had herself unwittingly sought, even to him she 
was as immutably silent, on this subject, as to all 
others — save, singly, to the eldest daughter of the 
house; whose conduct, through scenes of dreadful 
difficulty, notwithstanding her extreme youth, was 
even exemplary; and to whom the self-beguiled, yet 
generous mother, gave full and free permission to 
confide every thought and feeling to the Memorialist. 

And here let a tribute of friendship be offered 
up to the shrine of remembrance, due from a thousand 
ineffaceably tender recollections. Not wildly, and with 
male and headstrong passions, as has currently been 
asserted, was this connection brought to bear on the 
part of Mrs. Thrale. It was struggled against at 
time with even agonizing energy; and with efforts 
so vehement, as nearly to destroy the poor machine 
they were exerted to save. But the subtle poison had 

1 A modern reader finds difficulty in discovering any adequate 
reason why Mrs. Thrale should not have married Piozzi with the 
full approbation of her friends. See Broadley's Dr. Johnson and 
Mrs. Thrale, London, 1910. In 1782 Mrs. Thrale was in her forty- 
second year. 



230 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

glided into her veins so unsuspectedly, and, at first, 
so unopposedly, that the whole fabric was infected 
with its venom ; which seemed to become a part, never 
to be dislodged, of its system. 

It was, indeed, the positive opinion of her physician 
and friend, Sir Lucas Pepys, that so excited were her 
feelings, and so shattered, by their early indulgence, 
was her frame, that the crisis which might be pro- 
duced through the medium of decided resistance, of- 
fered no other alternative but death or madness. 

A few weeks earlier, the Memorialist had passed 
a nearly similar scene with Dr. Johnson. 1 Not, how- 
ever, she believes, from the same formidable species 
of surmise; but from the wounds inflicted upon his 
injured sensibility, through the palpably altered looks, 
tone, and deportment, of the bewildered lady of the 
mansion; who, cruelly aware what would be his 
wrath, and how overwhelming his reproaches against 
her projected union, wished to break up their residing 
under the same roof before it should be proclaimed. 

This gave to her whole behaviour towards Dr. 
Johnson, a sort of restless petulancy, of which she 
was sometimes hardly conscious; at others, nearly 
reckless ; but which hurt him far more than she pur- 
posed, though short of the point at which she aimed, 
of precipitating a change of dwelling that would 
elude its being cast, either by himself or the world, 
upon a passion that her understanding blushed to 
own; even while she was sacrificing to it all of 

1 She has just described her father's adieu to Streatham. 



1782] Mrs. Thrale's Neglect of Johnson 231 

inborn dignity that she had been bred to hold 
most sacred. 

Dr. Johnson, while still uninformed of an entangle- 
ment it was impossible he should conjecture, attrib- 
uted her varying humours to the effect of wayward 
health meeting a sort of sudden wayward power: and 
imagined that caprices, which he judged to be partly 
feminine, and partly wealthy, would soberize them- 
selves away in being unnoticed. He adhered, there- 
fore, to what he thought his post, in being the osten- 
sible guardian protector of the relict and progeny of 
the late chief of the house; taking no open or visible 
notice of the alteration in the successor — save only at 
times, and when they were tete-a-tete, to this Memori- 
alist; to whom he frequently murmured portentous 
observations on the woeful, nay alarming deteriora- 
tion in health and disposition of her whom, so lately, 
he had signalized as the gay mistress of Streatham. 

But at length, as she became more and more dis- 
satisfied with her own situation, and impatient for 
its relief, she grew less and less scrupulous with re- 
gard to her celebrated guest; she slighted his coun- 
sel; did not heed his remonstrances; avoided his 
society; was ready at a moment's hint to lend him her 
carriage when he wished to return to Bolt Court; but 
awaited a formal request to accord it for bringing him 
back. 

The Doctor then began to be stung; his own aspect 
became altered; and depression, with indignant un- 
easiness, sat upon his venerable front. 

It was at this moment that, finding the Memorialist 



232 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1782 

was going one morning to St. Martin's Street, he de- 
sired a cast thither in the carriage, and then to be 
set down at Bolt Court. 

Aware of his disturbance, and far too well aware 
how short it was of what it would become when the 
cause of all that passed should be detected, it was 
in trembling that the Memorialist accompanied him 
to the coach, filled with dread of offending him by any 
reserve, should he force upon her any inquiry; and 
yet impressed with the utter impossibility of betray- 
ing a trusted secret. 

His look was stern, though dejected, as he fol- 
lowed her into the vehicle ; but when his eye, which, 
however short-sighted, was quick to mental percep- 
tion, saw how ill at ease appeared his companion, all 
sternness subsided into an undisguised expression of 
the strongest emotion, that seemed to claim her sym- 
pathy, though to revolt from her compassion; while, 
with a shaking hand, and pointing finger, he directed 
her looks to the mansion from which they were driv- 
ing; and, when they faced it from the coach window, 
as they turned into Streatham Common, tremulously 
exclaiming: " That house ... is lost to me — for 
ever!" x 

During a moment he then fixed upon her an inter- 
rogative eye, that impetuously demanded: " Do you 
not perceive the change I am experiencing? " 

1 For Johnson's final farewell to Streatham, which occurred on 
Oct 6, 1782, see Life, 4. 158 ff. This of course did not mean 
the end of his friendship with Mrs. Thrale, with whom he still 
corresponded {Letters, 2. passim) ; the revelation of the cause of 
Mrs. Thrale's coldness and distrust came much later (July, 1784). 
See below, and Letters, 2. 404 ff. 



1782] Johnson Leaves Streatham 233 

A sorrowing sigh was her only answer. 

Pride and delicacy then united to make him leave 
her to her taciturnity. 

He was too deeply, however, disturbed to start or 
to bear any other subject; and neither of them uttered 
a single word till the coach stopt in St. Martin's 
Street, and the house and the carriage door were 
opened for their separation ! He then suddenly and 
expressively looked at her, abruptly grasped her hand, 
and, with an air of affection, though in a low, husky 
voice, murmured rather than said : " Good-morning, 
dear lady ! " but turned his head quickly away, to 
avoid any species of answer. 

She was deeply touched by so gentle an acquiescence 
in her declining the confidential discourse upon which 
he had indubitably meant to open, relative to this 
mysterious alienation. But she had the comfort to 
be satisfied, that he saw and believed in her sincere 
participation in his feelings; while he allowed for the 
grateful attachment that bound her to a friend so 
loved; who, to her at least, still manifested a fervour 
of regard that resisted all change; alike from this 
new partiality, and from the undisguised, and even 
strenuous opposition of the Memorialist to its in- 
dulgence. 

The " Adieu, Streatham! " that had been uttered 
figuratively by Dr. Burney, without any knowledge 
of its nearness to reality, was now fast approaching 
to becoming a mere matter of fact ; for, to the almost 
equal grief, however far from equal loss, of Dr. 
Johnson and Dr. Burney, Streatham, a short time 



234 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1783 or 4 

afterwards, though not publicly relinquished, was 
quitted by Mrs. Thrale and her family. 

A latent, 1 but most potent reason, had, in fact, 
some share in abetting the elements in the failure of 
the Memorialist of paying her respects in Bolt Court 
at this period; except when attending thither her 
father. Dr. Burney feared her seeing Dr. Johnson 
alone; dreading, for both their sakes, the subject to 
which the Doctor might revert, if they should chance 
to be tete-a-tete. Hitherto, in the many meetings of 
the two Doctors and herself that had taken place 
after the paralytic stroke of Dr. Johnson, 2 as well as 
during the many that had more immediately followed 
the retreat of Mrs. Thrale to Bath, the name of that 



1 Mme. D'Arblay appears here to have confused two visits to 
Johnson, one made in November, 1783, the other in November, 
1784. The letter to which she refers below, reproaching her for 
not calling (see above, p. 175), was sent November 19, 1783; but 
the conversation which she here records as having occurred at the 
subsequent visit could hardly have taken place at that time. There 
is no evidence that Johnson's feelings toward Mrs. Thrale were so 
bitter in the year 1783 as Mme. D'Arblay here represents them. 
As late as March 10, 1784, he wrote her, " Do not reject me from 
your thoughts. Shall we ever exchange confidence by the fire- 
side again?" {Letters, 2.381); on the twenty-fifth of the same 
month, Mrs. Thrale is still his " mistress," and he complains that 
he does not understand her " disorder." On the other hand, during 
Miss Burney's visit to him in November, 1784, a conversation quite 
in keeping with the spirit of the one here recorded took place 
(above, pp. 184-85.) He drives Mrs Piozzi from his mind and 
burns her letters. There, as here, Miss Burney is in haste to 
change the subject of the conversation. 

If, in spite of the evidence against it, this scene be an authentic 
occurrence of November, 1783 (long, it will be remembered, before 
Mrs. Thrale had ceased struggling against her passion for Piozzi), 
we can only feel that Johnson is selfish and unreasonable, finding 
no other excuse for his burst of wrath than his own words, "Ill- 
ness makes a man a scoundrel." (Diary, 3«399-) 

2 June 16, 1783. (See above, p. 173, and Letters, 2. 300 ff.) 



1783 or 4] Miss Burney at Bolt Court 235 

lady had never once been mentioned by any of the 
three. 

Not from any difference of opinion was the silence; 
it was rather from a painful certainty that their 
opinions must be in unison, and, consequently, that 
in unison must be their regrets. Each of them, there- 
fore, having so warmly esteemed one whom each of 
them, now, so afflictingly blamed, they tacitly con- 
curred that, for the immediate moment, to cast a veil 
over her name, actions, and remembrance, seemed 
what was most respectful to their past feelings, and to 
her present situation. 

But, after the impressive reproach of Dr. John- 
son 1 to the Memorialist relative to her absence ; and 
after a seizure which caused a constant anxiety for his 
health, she could no longer consult her discretion at 
the expense of her regard; and, upon ceasing to ob- 
serve her precautions, she was unavoidably left with 
him, one morning, by Dr. Burney, who had indis- 
pensable business further on in the city, and was to 
call for her on his return. 

Nothing yet had publicly transpired, with certainty 
or authority, relative to the projects of Mrs. Thrale, 
who had now been nearly a year at Bath; though 
nothing was left unreported, or unasserted, with re- 
spect to her proceedings. Nevertheless, how far Dr. 
Johnson was himself informed, or was ignorant on the 
subject, neither Dr. Burney nor his daughter could 
tell; and each equally feared to learn. 

Scarcely an instant, however, was the latter left 

1 The letter referred to p. 234, note 1. 



236 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1783 or 4 

alone in Bolt Court, ere she saw the justice of her 
long apprehensions; for while she planned speaking 
upon some topic that might have a chance to catch 
the attention of the Doctor, a sudden change from 
kind tranquility to strong austerity took place in his 
altered countenance ; and, startled and affrighted, she 
held her peace. 

A silence almost awful succeeded, though, previ- 
ously to Dr. Burney's absence, the gayest discourse 
had been reciprocated. 

The Doctor, then see-sawing violently in his chair, 
as usual when he was big with any powerful emotion 
whether of pleasure or of pain, seemed deeply moved; 
but without looking at her, or speaking, he intently 
fixed his eyes upon the fire; while his panic-struck 
visitor, filled with dismay at the storm which she saw 
gathering over the character and conduct of one still 
dear to her very heart, from the furrowed front, the 
laborious heaving of the ponderous chest, and the roll 
of the large penetrating, wrathful eye of her hon- 
oured, but just then, terrific host, sate mute, motion- 
less, and sad; tremblingly awaiting a mentally demol- 
ishing thunderbolt. 

Thus passed a few minutes, in which she scarcely 
dared breathe; while the respiration of the Doctor, 
on the contrary, was of asthmatic force and loud- 
ness; then, suddenly turning to her, with an air of 
mingled wrath and woe, he hoarsely ejaculated: 
" Piozzi ! " 

He evidently meant to say more; but the effort with 
which he articulated that name robbed him of any 



1784?] Johnson Denounces Mrs. Thrale 237 

voice for amplification, and his whole frame grew 
tremulously convulsed. 

His guest, appalled, could not speak; but he soon 
discerned that it was grief from coincidence, not dis- 
trust from opposition of sentiment, that caused her 
taciturnity. 

This perception calmed him, and he then exhibited 
a face " in sorrow more than anger." His see-sawing 
abated of its velocity, and, again fixing his looks upon 
the fire, he fell into pensive rumination. 

From time to time, nevertheless, he impressively 
glanced upon her his full fraught eye, that told, had 
its expression been developed, whole volumes of his 
regret, his disappointment, his astonished indignancy; 
but, now and then, it also spoke so clearly and so 
kindly, that he found her sight and her stay soothing 
to his disturbance, that she felt as if confidentially 
communing with him, although they exchanged not a 
word. 

At length, and with great agitation, he broke forth 
with: " She cares for no one! You, only — You, she 
loves still ! — but no one — and nothing else ! — You she 
still loves " 

A half smile now, though of no very gay char- 
acter, softened a little the severity of his features, 
while he tried to resume some cheerfulness in adding : 
" As she loves her little finger! " 

It was plain by this burlesque, or, perhaps, play- 
fully literal comparison, that he meant now, and 
tried, to dissipate the solemnity of his concern. 

The hint was taken ; his guest started another sub- 



238 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1784? 

ject; and this he resumed no more. He saw how dis- 
tressing was the theme to a hearer whom he ever 
wished to please, not distress; and he named Mrs. 
Thrale no more. Common topics took place, till they 
were rejoined by Dr. Burney, whom then, and in- 
deed always, he likewise he spared upon this subject. 



1778] The Fame of Evelina 239 



APPENDIX 

EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNALS OF SUSAN AND 
CHARLOTTE BURNEY 

" I have such a thing to tell you," 1 said he [my 
father] " about poor Fan " 2 — 

" Dear sir, what? " and I immediately suppos'd he 
had spoke to Mrs. Thrale. 

" Why to-night, we were sitting at tea — only John- 
son, Mrs. Thrale and me — * Madam/ cried Johnson 
see saw-ing on his chair — ' Mrs. Chol'mley was talk- 
ing to me last night of a new novel, 3 which she says 
has a very uncommon share of merit — Evelina — 
She says she has not been so much entertained this 
great while as in reading it — and that she shall go 
all over London in order to discover the author ' — 

" ' Good G — d ' cried Mrs. Thrale — ' why some- 
body else mentioned that book to me — Lady West- 
cote it was I believe — The modest writer of Evelina, 
she talk'd to me of.' 

" ' Mrs. Chol'mley says she never met so much 
modesty with so much merit before in any literary 
performance,' said Johnson. 



1 Extract from a letter of Susan Burney's, first printed in the 
Early Diary, London, 1889, from which all the subsequent extracts 
are taken. 

2 Before the publication of Evelina, Dr. Burney had been some- 
what inclined to condescension toward his daughter Fanny, as one 
of the lesser members of the family. 

8 Cf. above, p. 10. 



240 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1778-79 

" ' Why, ' said I, quite coolly and innocently — 
1 Somebody recommended it to me too — I read a little 
of it, which indeed seem'd to be above the common 
place works of this kind.' 

" ' Well,' said Mrs. Thrale— ' I'll get it certainly; 
' It will do ' said I, ' for your time of confinement I 
think.' 

" ' You must have it Madam/ cried Johnson, — 
* for Mrs. Chol'mley says she shall keep it on her 
table the whole summer, that everybody that knows 
her may see it — for she says everybody ought to read 

it!'"— 

A tolerably agreeable conversation this, methinks — 
It took away my breath, and made me skip about like 
a mad creature — What effect it may have on you I 
know not — But I think it will occasion you no less 
consternation than you received from the Monthly 
Review * — 

" And how did you feel sir? " cried I to my father. 

"Feel? Why I liked it, of all things!— and I 
wanted somebody else to introduce the book there too 
— 'Twas just what I wish'd — I am sure Mrs. Thrale 
will be pleased with it." 

Leicester Fields. 
Chesington, 2 Sunday, Aug. 1, 1779. 

We arrived at Streatham at a very little past eleven. 
As a place, it surpassed all my expectations. The 

1 An extremely laudatory notice of Evelina appeared in the 
Monthly Review for April, 1778. 

2 A letter from Susan to Fanny Burney. 



1779] Susan Burney Meets Johnson 241 

avenue to the house, plantations, &c. are beautiful; 
worthy of the charming inhabitants. It is a little 
Paradise, I think. Cattle, poultry, dogs, all running 
freely about, without annoying each other. Sam x 
opened the chaise-door, and told my father breakfast 
was not quite over, and I had no sooner got out 
than Mr. Thrale appeared at a window close to the 
door, — and, indeed, my dear Fanny, you did not tell 
me anything about him which I did not find entirely 
just. With regard to his reception of me, it was 
particularly polite. I followed my father into the 
library, which was much such a room as I expected; — 
a most charming one. There sat Mrs. Thrale and 
Dr. Johnson, the latter finishing his breakfast 2 upon 
peaches. Mrs. Thrale immediately rose to meet me 
very sweetly, and to welcome me to Streatham. Dr. 
Johnson, too, rose. "How do, dear lady?" My 
father told him it was not his Miss 3 — but another of 
his own bantlings. Dr. Johnson, however, looked at 
me with great kindness, and not at all in a discour- 
aging manner. . . . Dr. Johnson interrupted Mrs. 
Thrale by telling my father Mrs. Thrale had desired 
Mr. Potter 4 to translate some verses for him, which 
he, (Dr. J.) had before undertaken to do. "How 
so ? " said my father. " Why Mr. Potter? " " Nay, 

la 'Sam' was Samuel Greaves, an old servant of Mr. Thrale, 
after whose death Dr. Johnson instituted ' Sara's Club.' " Ellis. 
(Cf. above, p. 178.) 

2 Eleven was no late hour for Johnson, who frequently lay abed 
till noon. 

3 Fanny, of course. The mistake was due to defective eyesight. 
(Cf. above, p. 3.) 

* Johnson considered Potter's translation of yEschylus " verbiage." 
{Life, 3-256.) 



242 Dn Johnson & Fanny Burney [1779 

Sir, I don't know. It was Mrs. Thrale's fancy." 
Mrs. Thrale said she would go and fetch them. As 
soon as she was gone, Dr. Johnson invited me to take 
her seat, which was next to him. " Come, come here, 
my little dear," said he, with great kindness, and took 
my hand as I sat down, I took then courage to deliver 
your respects. " Aye. — Why don't she come among 
us?" said he. I said you were confined by a sick 
sister, but that you were very sorry to be away. " A 
rogue ! " said he, laughing. " She don't mind me! " 
And then I up and spoke vast fine * about you, for Dr. 
Johnson looked so kind, and so good-humour'd I was 
not afraid of the sound of my voice. Mr. Thrale 
then came in, — and, by the way, during my whole 
visit look'd at me with so much curiosity, tho' he be- 
haved with the utmost politeness, that I could not 
help thinking all the time of his having said he had 
not had fair play about that Miss Susan. I am sorry 
he had heard me puff'd; however, kinder and more 
flattering attention could not be paid me from all 
quarters than I received. Dr. Johnson insisted upon 
my eating one of his peaches, and, when I had eat it, 
took a great deal of pains to persuade me to take 
another. " No," said Mr. Thrale, " they're good for 
nothing. Miss Burney must have some better than 
them." However, I was humble. They did for me. 
Miss Thrale came in: coldly civil as usual, 2 — but was 
very chatty with me, for her, before I went away. 
Then came back Mrs. Thrale, with the verses, 

1 Susan falls instinctively into the language of the Branghtons. 

2 Cf. above, p. i. 




Anonymous engraving of Johnson in the last years 
of his life 



I 779] Johnson's Derisive Verses 243 

which she had been copying out. I rose, and took 
a seat next Miss Thrale. However, she made me 
return to that next Dr. Johnson, that he might hear 
what I had to say. " But, if I have nothing to say, 
Ma'am? " said I — " Oh, never fear," said she, laugh- 
ing, " I'll warrant you'll find something to talk 
about." The verses were then given to my father. 
After he had read the first stanza, " Why, these are 
none of Potter's ! " said he, " these are worse than 
Potter! They beat him at his own weapons." Dr. 
Johnson and Mrs. Thrale laugh'd very much, and the 
verses proved to be the former's, and were composed, 
in a comical humour, the evening before, in derision 
of Potter. 1 They are admirable, you will see them 
at Streatham, and perhaps procure a copy, which my 
father could not do. Dr. Johnson is afraid of having 
them spread about as some other verses were he wrote 
in the same way to redicule \_sic\ poor Dr. Percy; 2 
but Mrs. Thrale advised my father to make you at- 
tack Dr. Johnson about them, " for she can do what 
she pleases with him." 3 . . . 

My father then played over some songs from the 
Olimpiade during which Dr. Johnson came in. He 
had a book in his hand, and wanted to shew some pas- 

1 These verses have perhaps perished. They were probably not 
dissimilar in spirit to those entitled Parody of a Translation from 
the Medea of Euripides, Works (1787), 11.376, which Mme. 
Piozzi intimates ('Anecdotes,' Miscellanies, 1. 191) were done in 
imitation of Gray's Elegy. It is, I think, not impossible that these 
are the very verses referred to in the text. 

2 The verses ridiculing Percy, and one or two other similar 
burlesques, may be found in the same place as the verses referred 
to in the preceding note. 

3 There is no evidence that Fanny ever tried to get them. 



244 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [i779 

sage to my father, but seeing him engaged, stopt 
close to me, who was standing near the piano-forte. 
He put his arm round me, and smiling very good- 
humouredly, said, " Now you don't expect that I shall 
ever love you so well as I do your sister? " — " Oh, 
no, Sir," said I — " I have no such hopes — I am not 
so presumptuous." — " I am glad you are so modest," 
said he, laughing, — and so encouraged by his good 
humour, (and he kept see-sawing me backwards and 
forwards in his arms, as if he had taken me for you) 
that I told him I must make an interest with him 
through you. He again said he was glad I was so 
modest, and added — " but I believe you're a good 
little creature — I think one should love you, too, if 
one did but know you! " x There's for you! — I as- 
sure you I shall set this little conversation down 
among my first honours. It put me in good humour 
and spirits for the rest of the day. After this Mr. 
Thrale came in, and some very good conversation 
went about concerning Count Manucci, 2 Mr. and 
Mrs. Pepys, 3 and I don't know who besides. . . . 
When we were to go, Dr. Johnson comically re- 
peated his "Don't expect me to love you so well 
as your sister" but added, as I left the room, a 
very good-natured farewell — " Goodbye, my little 
love." 

1 In 1781, Johnson wrote to Mrs. Thrale, of the Burney family, 
" I love all of that breed whom I can be said to know, and one 
or two whom I hardly know I love upon credit, and love them 
because they love each other." {Letters, 2.237.) Cf. above, p. 171. 

2 What is known of Johnson's relations with Count Manucci may 
be found in the Life, 2.390, 394; 3.89, 91, and Letters, 1. 392 ff. 

3 See above, pp. 123 ff. 



1777] Garrick Imitates Johnson 245 

He [Garrick] 1 took off Dr. Johnson most ad- 
mirably. Indeed, I enjoyed it doubly from having 
been in his company; his see-saw, his pawing, his very 
look, and his voice ! My cot! what an astonishing thing 
it is he [Garrick] has not a good ear for music ! He 
took him off in a speech (that has stuck in his gizzard 
ever since some friendly person was so obliging as 
to repeat it to him) . Indeed, I should much wonder 
if it did not, for it would have been a severe speech 
if it had been said upon who it would, much more 
upon Garrick, indeed I think it must have been ex- 
aggerated, or if not, that it was a very severe, ill- 
natured, unjust thing. " Yes, yes, Davy has some 
convivial pleasantries in him; but 'tis a futile Fel- 
low." 2 A little while after he took him off in one 
of his own convivial pleasantries. " No, Sir; I'm for 
the musick of the ancients, it has been corrupted so." 3 

The gentlemen 4 were so kind and considerate as 
to divert themselves by making a fire skreen to the 
whole room — Dr. Johnson, made them all make of, 
for when nobody would have imagined he had known 
the gentlemen were in the room, he said that " if he 
was not ashamed he would keep the fire from the 

*A selection from Charlotte Burney's Journal. 

2 Boswell tells the same anecdote. {Life, 2. 326.) Cf. above, p. 8, 
note, and Life, 2. 464. 

3 Mrs. Ellis, the editor of the Early Diary, points out that this 
refers " to the controversy as to the relative value of ancient and 
modern poetry, music, etc., etc., which raged from the end of 
the seventeenth into the first quarter of the eighteenth century." 
Garrick undoubtedly cites this instance of Johnson's conservatism 
because he is in the presence of the daughter of a famous musician. 

4 This is a scrap from the Journal of Charlotte Burney, describ- 
ing the disastrous conversazione recorded above, pp. 209 ff. 



246 Dr. Johnson & Fanny Burney [1777? 

ladies too," — this reproof (for a reproof it certainly 
was, altho' given in a veryscomical dry way) was pro- 
ductive of a scene as good as a comedy , for Mr. 
Suard 1 tumbled on to the sopha directly, Mr. Thrale 
on to a chair, Mr. Davenant sneaked off the premises 
seemingly in as great a fright and as much con- 
founded as if he had done any bad action, and Mr. 
Gruel, 2 being left solus was obliged to stalk off in 
spight of his teeth, and it was pretty evidently against 
the grain. During one of the duets, Piozzi, fatigued 
I suppose with being encircled with strangers and 
having nobody to converse with, regaled himself with 
a short nap. 

Dr. Johnson was immensely smart, for him, — for 
he had not only a very decent tidy suit of cloathes 
on, but his hands, face, and linnen were clean, and he 
treated us with his worsted wig which Mr. Thrale 
made him a present of, because it scarce ever got out 
of curl, and he generally diverts himself with laying 
\sic\ down just after he has got a fresh wig on. 

1 Mr. Seward. 

2 " Mr. ' Gruel ' is the lofty Greville, this being one of Charlotte's 
puns." Ellis. 



INDEX 



Abington, Mrs., 166 
American Revolution, 137 
Assembly, described, 158 ff. 

Bach, J. C, the younger, 4 

Bandeau, 70 

Barber, Frank, Johnson's valet, 
182, 187, 192, 216 

Baretti, Joseph, 37, 118 

Bath, 117, 235 

Beattie, Dr. James, 196 

Beauclerk, Topham, 210 

Bewley, Mr., "the Broom Gen- 
tleman," 218 

Bluestockings, 6, 62, 123, 149, 

155, 159 ff- 
Bodleian, 120 
Bonduca, 19 
Boswell, James, 

characterized by Miss 

Burney, 201, 221-22, 224; by 
Paoli, 147 ff. 

good humor, 201, 207 

imitates Johnson, 203, 207 

Life of Johnson, 195, 202, 

204; asks Miss Burney's as- 
sistance in writing, 202 ff. ; 
Boswell reads from it, 203 ; 
criticised by Miss Burney, 
205, 207; described by Bos- 
well, 202 ; read by King 
George, 205 

rebuked by Johnson, 225 

resembles Johnson, 222 

Scotch accent, his, 221 

treatment by Johnson, his, 

222-23 

visit to Streatham, 221 

Bowles, Mr., 172 
Brocklesby, Dr., 189 

Brown, Fanny, 42, 50 ff., 61, 98 



Bunbury, Henry, 123 
Burgoyne, Lady Frances, 131 ff. 
Burke, Edmund, 66, 174 

converses with Miss Bur- 
ney, 161 ff. 

his French Revolution, 202 

his last meeting with John- 
son, 190 

Burke, Mrs. Edmund, 160, 174 
Burney, Dr. Charles, 1, 48, 75, 
92, 94 ff., 104, 129, 173 

loved Jpy Johnson, 104 

visits the dying Johnson, 

191 

Burney, Charles, the younger, 

171, 177 
Burney, Charlotte, 175 

extracts from her journal, 

245-46 

Burney, Esther, "Hetty," 2, 33 
Burney family, 

Johnson's first visit to, 1, 

198 

Johnson's love of, 171 

Burney, Fanny, 

characterized by Johnson, 

3i, 73 

Dresser to Queen Char- 
lotte, 195, note 4 

education, 112 

first meeting with Johnson, 

2ff. 

first visit to Streatham, 15 

illness, 113-14 

Johnson's affection for, 73, 

96, 117, 242, 244 

letters from Johnson, 175, 

204 

letters to Johnson, 176 

modesty, her, 10 ff., 17 ff., 

53, 113, i2i, et passim 



247 



248 



Index 



Burney, Fanny, 

praise, love of, 32, 76, 

140 ff., 161 ff., et passim 

prepares Johnson's break- 
fast, 175 

reproached by Johnson for 

not writing, 116 

resembled Dr. Burney, 75, 

104 

second visit to Streatham, 

24 ff. 

sensitiveness, 87, et pas- 
sim 

studies Latin with John- 
son, 114, 120 

vindicates Johnson to his 

King, 206 

visits Johnson, 181, 182, 

183, 187 

Burney, Susan, 2, 10 

extracts from her journal, 

239-245 

Caliban, 186 

Cambridge, Rev. George Owen, 
177 

Cambridge, Rev. Richard Owen, 
192 

Carmichael, Miss " Poll," 65 

Cator, John, 126 

Cecilia, 149, 154, 158, 160 

Johnson gave no assist- 
ance in, 154 

praised by Burke, 162; by 

Johnson, 168 

price paid for, 163 

publication of, 226 

read by Gibbon, 164 

Chapone, Mrs., 176 
Chatterton, Thomas, 56, '185, 

note 
Chessington, 14, 218, note 
Chichester cathedral, visit to, 

proposed, 156 
Children, training of, 26 
Cholmondeley, Mrs., 10, 97, 

239 
Circle, guests arranged in, 165 
Clerke, Sir Philip Jennings, 99, 

in, 114 



disputes with Johnson, 

100 ff. 

" Clubable," 21 
Club, the Essex Head, 178 
Club, the Literary, 21, 174 
Collaboration, of Johnson and 

Miss Burney, proposed, 106 
Conversation, art of, 69 

as a contest, 68, 71, 181 

as an entertainment (con- 
versazione), 55, 159 ff. 

Cooke, Kitty, 86 

Crisp, Samuel, 1, 34, 53, note 

meeting with Johnson, 

2l8ff. 

Criticism, literary, by rule, 98 
Crutchley, Jeremiah, 83, 129-30, 

139 
Cumberland, Richard, 81 

his daughters, 29-30 

De Ferrars, Lady, 153 
Delany, Mrs., 163, 195* 
Delap, Dr., 157 
Desmoulins (De Mullin), Mrs., 
168 

manages Johnson's kitchen, 

64 

quarrels with Mrs. Wil- 
liams, 63 

Doughty, his engraving of John- 
son, 171 

Evelina, amuses Johnson, 11, 13 

attacked by Mr. Lort, 57 

authorship, 10, 75, 94, note 

compared with Fielding's 

novels, 32, 54; with Richard- 
son's, 11, 54, 58 

letters concerning, 11-12, 

138 

praised by Burke, 66; by 

Mrs. Cholmondeley, 10, 97 ; 
by Johnson, 13, 16, 35, 75; by 
Mrs. Montagu, 77; by Reyn- 
olds, 23-24; by Mrs. Thrale, 
1 1 -12, 240 

Windsor Forest, more re- 
markable than, 112 

Fielding, Henry, 32, 54, 77 



Index 



249 



Fisher, Kitty, 47 
Flint, "Bet," 45-46 
Floretta, 95 
Fuller, Rose, 41, 51, 81 

Garrick, David, 189, note 

always acting, 9 

imitates Johnson, 176, 

note; 203, note; 245 

Johnson's opinion of, 8-9, 

20-21, 245 

love of flattery, 8 

parsimony, his, 9 

prologues and epilogues, 

his, 20 

reads to King George, 6 

Genius, defined by Johnson, 165 
Goldsmith, Oliver, indebtedness 
to Johnson, 38 

Johnson's " hero," 82 

his Vicar disliked by John- 
son, 38 

weeps at failure of his 

play, no 

Good-Natured Man, 38 
Gordon riots, 118 
Greville, Mr., his meeting with 
Johnson, 209 ff. 

rebuked by Johnson, 214, 

245-46 

Greville, Mrs., 209 ff. 
Grub Street, 118-19 

Handwriting, 36 
Harris, James, 50 
Hawkins, Sir John, character- 
ized, 20-21 

his Life of Johnson, 194, 

note; 195 

Hebrides, Johnson's tour to the, 

90 
Hogarth, William, 53, 68, note 
Hoole, Rev. Samuel, 174, 183, 

187 
Horneck, Mary, the " Jessamy 

Bride," 196 
" Hortensia," 46 

Irene, 55, 94 

Jebb, Sir Richard, 36, 82, 122 



Jessop, Mr., Musgrave's school- 
master, 135, 136, 143 
Johnson, Samuel, 

acting, 17 

appearance described, 2-3, 

18, 217, 246 ^ 

attire, critical of feminine, 

41 ff., 69-70, 76, 88, 156 

careless of borrowed 

books, 176 

charity, his, 63 

coins words, 21 

contradiction, love of, 69 

conversation, disinclination 

to begin the, 3, 5, 41, 183, 211, 
219; his style in, 71 

criticism, extravagant, his, 

death, his, 188 ff., 194; fear 

of, 182, 188, 189 

deceit, hatred of, 66 f 166 

Dictator, Literary, 77 

diets, 113, 115, 145 

flattery, dislike of, 60; in- 
dulges in, 70, 78 

funeral, his, 194 

generosity to his enemies, 

56 

good humor, 28, 38, 49, 61, 

107, 118, 169, 174, 177 

harshness, sorry for his, 78 

household, his, described, 

63 ff- 

ignorance, impatience with, 

94 

ill humor, 157 

illness, 145, 170, 173, 181; 

his last, 183, 187 ff. 

late hours, fondness for, 

29, 108 

Meditations, his, published, 

194 

memory, his, 17 

music, opinion of, 4, 5, 

note; 90-91, 245 

near-sighted, 3, 63, 89, 156 

newspapers, annoyed by 

the, 47, 86 

nonsense, love of, 44, 51, 

102, 153, 242 



25° 



Index 



Johnson, Samuel, 

omitted from invitations, 

152 

quarrels, with Clerke, 

100 ff. ; with Pepys, 124 ff. 

reading, disinclined to 

thorough, 55 

reads aloud, 55 

rebuked by Mrs. Thrale, 

129 

scolds his friends, 79, 157 

Scotch, prejudice against 

the, 39-40 

sleepless nights, 31, 134, 

142 

wine, use of, 18, 21, 28, 82 

women of the street, ac- 
quaintance with, 45 ff. 

wrath, his, against Pepys, 

124; against Mrs. Thrale, 
236-37 

Johnson, Mrs. Samuel, death of, 
184 

King George III, 195 
Kitchen, Johnson's, described, 65 

Ladd, Lady, 70, 87-88, 90, 92 ff. 
Lade, Sir John, 33-34 

considered as a match for 

Miss Burney, 85 

Langton, Bennet, 188, 192, 193, 
206 

children, his, 26, 172 

imitates Johnson, 207 

prodigality, his, 27-28 

visited by Johnson, 62, 172 

" Laurinda," 46 

Lennox, Mrs. Charlotte, 49, 205 

Lethe, 7-8 

Letters, anonymous, 137-38 

Levat, Robert, 64 

Levee, Johnson's, 174 

" Lexiphanes," 1, 62 

Lichfield, Johnson's visits to, 
183 

Life of Lord Lyttelton, John- 
son's, 123 ff. 

Literary Club, the, 21, 174 



Lives of the Poets, 49, 60, 67, 
71, 86, 119, 123 ff., 215 ff. 

copy presented to Mrs. 

Thrale, 217 

proof-sheets given to Bos- 
well, 216; to Miss Burney, 
216 

read in proof by Miss Bur- 
ney, 119, 121 

Lort, Mr., 56 ff. 

Lyttelton, Lord, see Life of. 

Macbean, Alexander, 64 

Manucci, Count, 244 

Metcalf, Philip, 150, 155, 157, 

159, 164 
Methodists, 183 
Monckton, Miss, her assembly, 

158 ff. 
Montagu, Admiral, 37 
Montagu, Mrs., 6, 45, 67 ff., 74, 

82, 180 

annoyed by the Life of 

Lyttelton, 123 

Evelina, interested in, 77 

flattery, her, 6 

kindness to Mrs. Williams, 

180 

new house, her, 69, 74-75 

reconciliation with John- 
son, 180 

More, Hannah, her flattery of 

Johnson, 60, 72 
Murphy, Arthur, 55, 98, 103 

characterized, 103 

helps Miss Burney with 

her play, 105 ff. 

Musgrave, 133 ff., 139 ff. 

his worship of Johnson, 

134; of his schoolmaster, 135, 
136, 143 

Norris, Rev. John, 67 

Ord, Mrs., 29, 118, 170, 196, 
206 

Palmyra, 51 

Pamphlet, attacking Miss Bur- 
ney, 94 



Index 



251 



Paoli, General, 146, 221 

describes Boswell, 147 

Paralysis, Johnson's stroke of, 

173, 234 
Pastoral poetry, 119 
Pepys, Sir Lucas, 230 
Pepys, William, 118, 123, 132, 

149, 152, 174, 178, 244 

disputes with Johnson, 

124 ff., 150 ff., 178 if. 

Percy, Bishop, 196 

his verses ridiculed by 

Johnson, 243 
Phillips, Captain, 157 
Pinkethara, Mrs., 47 
Piozzi, Signor, 210, 228 ff., 236, 

246 
"Poll," see Carmichael, Miss 
Pope, Alexander, 111; see also 

Lives of the Poets 
— — his poetry discussed, 151 ff. 
Portland, Duchess of, 163 

Queen Charlotte, 195 

Rambler, 38 

Reynolds, Frances, 23, 118, 196 

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 23-24, 82, 

97, 99, H6, 163 ff., 174, 202 
conversation with Miss 

Burney, 159 ff. 

portraits of Johnson, his, 

217 

Richardson, Samuel, 11, 49, 54, 

58, 68, note 
Romney, George, 81 
Rudd, Margaret, 47, 195 
Rules, literary, to be avoided, 

98, no 

Saint George's Chapel, Wind- 
sor, 201 
Sastres, Mr., 177, 188, 190 
Schwellenberg, Mrs., 197, 203 
Scotch, Miss Burney accused of 

writing, 39 
Seward, William, 2, 17, 23, 35- 
36, 56 ff., 90, 95, 99, 120, 124- 
126, 171, 173, 196, 246 



Shenstone, William, 126 
Siddons, Mrs., 164 ft. 
Strahan, Rev. George, 188 
Streatfield, Sophie, 52, 62, 98 
Streatham, 10 

described, 15-16, 241 

Johnson's adieu to, 230 ff. 

life at, 37 

summer-house at, 94 

title of an imaginary play, 

61 

visited by Susan Burney, 

240 ff. 

Subordination, necessary to soci- 
ety, 93 
Swinerton, Mr., 148, 153, 164 

Thrale, Henry, 78, 113 

characterized, 24, 99, 113 

death, 122, 227 

election dinners, his, 49 

illness, 120 

mourned by Johnson, 131 

Thrale, Miss Hester (Esther), 

1, 16, 141, 242 
Thrale, Mrs. Hester Lynch, 
characterized, 1, 16, 27 

conversation, her, 48 

denounced by Johnson, 237 

electioneers for Mr. 

Thrale, 117 

ends quarrel between 

Pepys and Johnson, 127-28 

Evelina, admiration of, n, 

15-16 
good humor, 27, 37, 48, 213 

imitates Piozzi, 212 

influence on Johnson, 220 

marriage to Piozzi, 184 

passion for Piozzi, her, 

228 ff. ; its influence on John- 
son, 230 ff. 

praise, extravagance of 

her, 80 

publishes her correspond- 
ence with Johnson, 197 

resembles Dr. Burney, 48 

submits to Johnson, 27, 79 

teases Miss Burney, 12, 85 ; 

teases Johnson, 44 



252 



Index 



Thrale, Susan, 169 
Tories, 100 ff. 

"Turbulent," Mr., 195, 201, 
204 

Vesey, Mrs., 173, 177, note 
Vicar of Wakefield, 38 

Wales, Johnson's tour in, 80 

Walpole, Horace, 174 

Warren, Dr., 188 

Whigs, 100 ff. 

Wig, Johnson's worsted, 246 

Wilkes, John, 20 

Williams, Anna, 13, 43, 48, 

63 ff-, 98, 99, 168, 173 
death, her, 174, 180 



Windsor Forest, see Evelina 
Witlings, The, Miss Burney's 
comedy, 53, 54, 65, 107, note 
Johnson's advice concern- 
ing, 109 ff. 

Murphy's assistance with, 

105 ff. 
Women as authors, 49, 75, xiz 
Woodhouse, the shoemaker- 
poet, 186 
Wyndham, Right Hon. William, 

his conversation with Miss 

Burney, 198 ff. 
Johnson's bequest to, 200 

Yearsley, Ann, the poetical 

mi Ik woman, 185 



615 =*««* 



\0 ^ 



s *v 









-™^V' ' ' V-i^V^' -.W;"/^ 






^ x 






• 












*° ^ 















' ° k ^ 



^ 






^ > 

** % 

^ 



* 




c^ 



' . . V 



^> ' 



^ 



4 . V 



-/' ,r 






0^ 












x u 7% 



















- 













>tf 



£ 



V 



^ «e, 






.<? 'v>- % 















^ 






^ V 






^^ 



f ^ 









o> ^ 
















n>% 









i 



^StBK^-l c - 


















,S* ^. 



-V 






^ 






I B 4 <+ 



J* 



'*■$ 







%4 



> 









■■■pi 



Am 



Mull 

lira 



H PI 

1318 

Sft&UfiHuBDuli 

ram 



I 

■•.■■■ 1- 




IP 
III 11 



11 



111 MM 

■■ 

mm 

i«niii 



mm 

flmttBfiSG 



rani 

■■I 




. — 



im 



• »• -* —**■■' 



